


you're the flame i use (when it gets dark)

by starkartifices



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ACTUALLY dont look too closely at the timeline thank u, Bad Parenting, Canon Compliant, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mysophobia, Parental Issues, Tension, Unreliable Narrator, au where covid doesnt exist, bc im stupid n made this take place in 2020, gratuitous displays of wealth, look at that ive been projecting onto sakusa again, theres a lot of mention of food btw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 55,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24998749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkartifices/pseuds/starkartifices
Summary: “Oh, if you want dear, you could bring a plus one. Though, I doubt you have a partner yet.”“I do actually.”“What was that, dear?”"I do have a partner, I mean."alt title: crazy rich sakusas
Relationships: Komori Motoya & Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 242
Kudos: 905





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this wasnt supposed to be a prologue this was supposed to be a part of the chapter but i got impulsive so here u go anyway hi im elix and this fic is another excuse to project onto sakusa again 
> 
> the title is a lyric from [ferrari](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojupoVzffMU) by the neighbourhood which is a good song with a lot of god tier lyrics

_ “- Spider-Man tips you can tell me now?”  _

The television was the only source of light in the otherwise dim apartment. An empty bowl of popcorn was placed on the coffee table, next to the metallic sanitary wipes holder. Sakusa Kiyoomi, the sole occupant of the penthouse, took a sip of hot chocolate from his mug, before gently setting it down on the coaster. 

_ “Yeah, I got plenty. Disinfect the mask. You’re going to want to use baby powder in the suit, heavy on the joints. You don’t want any chafing, right?” _

Kiyoomi snorted, wrapping his blanket around him where he sat curled up on the couch. Ah, the perfect way to spend his Friday night basking in the warmth that came with watching one’s comfort movie, away from the bitter cold that came with winter. As long as he wasn't interrupted again for the rest of the—. 

**_Beeeep. Vbrrrzzzzt. Beeeeep._ **

Kiyoomi’s jaw twitched. He reached for the remote, pausing the movie as his phone continued to ring for the third time that evening, the sound of it harsh on his ears. 

“Tch.” 

He didn’t have to look at the screen to know who it was from but he reached for his phone, doing it anyway. Maybe it was because of the tiny semblance of hope that said it might have been Meian calling about a change in schedule, or his manager asking him for his approval about a photoshoot or advert, or something. 

Anything. 

Of course, its baseless hope, squashed to pieces with every ring as his scowl deepened. Even more so as he glared at the caller ID: ‘Mother’ 

While a part of him considered picking up the call and just  _ getting it over with,  _ another yelled at him to decline the call under the pretense of self-care. Kiyoomi did neither, letting it ring out completely before unpausing the movie, trying to immerse himself into it once again. Three had always been the limit: three years of dating before marriage, three kids, three houses spread across the country, and three calls before giving up on reaching someone for the day. 

**_Bzzzzt. Ting. Bzzzzt. Tin- TingTIngTIngTIng._ **

A sound, that might have resembled a growl, tore itself out of Kiyoomi’s throat. He should’ve figured this was going to come next, it always did. Three was the limit and in this case, it was three hours of spamming texts. 

The incoming messages flashed up on the screen, taunting him with every notification he got. He briefly wondered why he never got around to putting his phone on silent as he grabbed the phone with more strength than required, almost knocking his hand into the table. Kiyoomi scowled, ignoring the texts opting to call her back instead. She picked up on the third ring. 

“Kiyoomi dear, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”

“I was at practice,” he lied. It’s not like she could have called him out on it anyway. 

The momentary pause before her response left him with the impression that that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. (It never was.) And when she finally did speak up, her voice was strained, in an attempt to sound as enthusiastic as she was mere moments ago. “Ah, right. That thing you do. How’s that working out for you?” 

"Great. What do you want." 

“Want?” Tone hurt and fragile with the cracks shining through, “Nothing dear. Is that wrong to want to talk to my son?” 

Kiyoomi didn’t reply. A sigh came from the other end of the line and he knew exactly what was going through her mind. ‘ _ Why must you be so difficult? _ ’ Why indeed. 

“Your father and I will be visiting Japan soon.” 

“Okay.” 

“Around next month,” she continued as if he’d asked. “We’ll be visiting your sister first. Then, we’ll catch up with you over dinner.” 

There was no ‘if your schedule is free’ or ‘if you would like that’ or ‘if possible’. This was how it always was, how it always would be. Kiyoomi stayed silent. 

“I was thinking we’d go to La Baie? You know, the one at the Ritz?” 

No response. 

“Oh, if you want dear, you could bring a plus one. Though, I doubt you have a partner yet, what with that condition of yours.” 

And there it was. Despite being on the receiving end of variations of the same comment ever since he was 8, Kiyoomi still couldn't stop the fifteen years of suppressed anger in his chest from rearing its ugly head. He clenched his jaw as he spoke the words without thinking twice about them. “I do actually.” 

“What was that, dear?” 

“I do,” he repeated, louder this time, heart in his throat because all she had to do was call him out on it and he’d fall apart, “Have a partner, I mean.”

“Oh.” The surprise evident in her voice was nearly enough to make him feel smug for lying. ( _ She fell for it. She fell for it. She fell for it.) _ “Thats nice.” 

“It is.” 

A pause. “And how long have you both been together?” 

“Six months,” he replied, before adding on for good measure, “of course, the media hasn’t got wind of it. We’ve been keeping it under wraps.”

“I see,” she said quietly as if she was still trying to process what he’d just said. “Well then I’ll get going now, kiyoomi.” 

The call disconnected. 

  
  
  
  


It wasn't until he was halfway through Spiderman: Into the Spider-verse, when Peter B. Parker was going on about how he’d make sure that MJ got the bread she deserved, that he finally realized what he’d done. 

“Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like i said this wasnt supposed to be so short the chapter it was a part of is really long n i just yeah 
> 
> anyway ik it says 7 chapters but i might end up getting carried away and making it longer i do not know but what i do know is that ive a sakuatsu brainrot 
> 
> thank you so much for reading !! and please let me know what you think i'd love to hear your thoughts :D


	2. actually chap 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Name the price it’d take for you to be my date for dinner next month.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this . ended up Way longer than i thought it would lol but im so glad i finished it before 402. anyway sakusa might be ooc a bit i really cant figure him out one moment i have an image of him constructed n then its taken apart the moment i remember this bitch has bonk in his vocab ?? i might come back to edit this chapter when i do get comfy with him 
> 
> ALSO i'd like to thank yeezy for helping me flesh this out i never really considered manifesting it into a fic just yknow let it rot in the brain but anyway here we are everyone say thank u yeezy
> 
> and also thank u to amanda n ru for letting me yell at them abt this n sakuatsu in general eventho they arent caught up on haikyuu <3

_Maybe_ , Kiyoomi wondered as he added another bottle of detergent into his shopping cart, _I am overreacting._

(He wasn’t. Sakusa Kiyoomi wasn’t one to overthink, wasn’t one to overreact.)

 _Maybe, they’ll behave for once._ Fluoride-free toothpaste next since he was running out, the dual pack should do it. _With someone else there, they’ll behave. Right?_

(Wrong.)

It'd been two days since the phone call, two days of planning out scenarios in his head, two days of weighing the pros and cons of canceling on them, two days of continuously thinking about it regardless of what it was he was doing. Like now, for example: here he was replenishing his supplies for the month, after a particularly brutal practice on an otherwise calm Monday evening, mentally checking things off of his list as he added them to the cart. 

Kiyoomi frowned behind the surgical mask, lost in thought as he took note of the various brands of disinfectants. A pointless thing to do perhaps, given that he’d end up picking up the same trusted brand he’s been using for the past 14 years, give or take. 

Three minutes later, with said trusted brand of disinfectant now being scanned by the cashier, he pulled his credit card out from his wallet. _What if it’s someone they approve of? What then?_

The cashier handed him his card back. Kiyoomi accepted it, grateful for the gloves he was wearing that Komori had given him for his birthday. He pushed the card back into its slot before putting the wallet away. He walked over to the exit, the bag of purchases in hand, the doors automatically sliding open at his presence. 

He didn’t have to look to know that there were some highschoolers milling about near his car. He didn’t need to have exceptional hearing to hear the collective gasps and whispers as he unlocked his car. 

“Isn’t that MSBY’S Sakusa?” 

“He’s so fucking hot, oh my god. Are you taking pictures? My phone’s about to die!” 

“It’s like that car was made for him.” 

“Do you think he’d take a selfie with us?”

His car was an olive green colored Aston Martin DB 11 and not a single day has passed by where he didn’t wonder why he thought buying something so conspicuous was such a good idea. But then there’s no way he was going to trade it for anything else. He settled the bag onto the passenger seat as he sat down, closing the door. In swift practiced movements, he removed his gloves, dropping them into the ziplock bag he’d kept for this specific purpose before lifting up the armrest and depositing it inside. Kiyoomi picked up the hand sanitizer he’d kept in one of the holders, squirting out a precise amount onto his palm. It wasn’t until he was satisfied that he finally leaned back against the seat, turned the key in the ignition, the sound of the engine soothing to his ears as he gripped the steering wheel, shifted gears, the black leather interior warm against his hand, and pulled out of the parking lot. 

_What if it’s someone they approve of? What then?_

(That’s the big question isn’t it.) 

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


In hindsight, the situation itself wasn't that bad. He had over a month to figure out how to get someone to pretend to be his partner and there were a couple of eligible options he’d formulated based on his connections which he had spent his free time narrowing down. 

(It also gave him something to do and not shut down on himself the way he did every time he remembered that he would soon be in the same vicinity as his parents.)

In conclusion, there was hope, if Kiyoomi wanted to be kind enough to call it that. 

Wakatoshi was the first person he’d considered, though the thought was crossed out as quickly as it had come. He wasn’t one to lie like that and Kiyoomi wasn't going to ruin the relationship they had by making things awkward between them. Also, he liked Wakatoshi enough to not want to subject him to the horrendous shit show that would be dinner with his parents. 

The idea was that if he took someone who he was mere acquaintances with, it would less likely ruin whatever bond he had with them, even better if they never had one in the first place. Good thing, there was barely a handful of people he genuinely cared about. 

Next was eliminating Hinata, Kageyama, and Hoshiumi. Not only were Hinata and Kageyama together but even if they weren’t, it was a hard no. And Hoshiumi? He was a headache. But Hoshiumi knew Hiirugami Sachirou and Hiirugami was hard-working, rather nice to look at, and was a veterinary student, still cute, polite, handsome, a solid 11/10. Kiyoomi added him to his list.

Bokuto was eliminated without a second thought. However, he knew Akaashi Keiji. Unfortunately, they were engaged which was a shame because Akaashi was extremely well mannered and nice to talk to despite his offhanded tendency to psychoanalyze anything and everything. His parents would've loved him. 

There was the possibility of asking for Komori’s help. After all, wasn’t Suna on the same team as him? He seemed calm and sensible which was definitely a facade since Kiyoomi knew he was a friend of the twins. But unlike the twins, he was probably mature enough to behave himself at a dinner. He was also beautiful in a way. Kiyoomi remembered him being a part-time model during the off-season so there was a possibility he’d agree if he paid him for it. Though in that case, Miya Osamu was also quite likely to behave himself and he founded a very successful onigiri chain of his own which was proof enough that he wasn’t as much of a heathen as his twin. He was also handsome and polite. It was no secret he was considered the sensible twin out of the two, though Kiyoomi had a feeling his maturity came from being in the customer service department which was a plus because it meant he’d be able to handle dinner and there was a good chance his parents would approve of him. 

Kiyoomi had briefly considered Ojirou Aran and Kita Shinsuke too. They’d both been strong players back then, Ojirou had gotten even stronger now and in a way, so did Kita. Kiyoomi had always liked Inarizaki’s old captain, he’d considered him as elegant and ideal. He was someone he truly admired and still did. There was no way, he was going to embarrass himself by asking him especially when he respected Kita. Ojirou was too nice for Kiyoomi to put him through something like this. Sure, he was attractive and caring, overall a good-natured person, but Kiyoomi still felt like he owed him for that one time he pushed open the bathroom door for him that one time at Nationals. 

After considering and mulling various other candidates just to verify his selection, Kiyoomi had finally narrowed down his top 3.

Potential dates: 

  1. Miya Osamu
  2. Suna Rintarou
  3. Hiirugami Sachirou



Since Osamu occasionally visited to pick Atsumu up after practice, Kiyoomi decided he’d ask him whenever they’d cross paths or else he’d have to take his number from Atsumu which wasn’t something that he wanted to do. 

And in the end, if all of his planning failed then he could always reach out to his manager and sign up for one of those magazine photoshoots with abroad locations they kept badgering him with. His parents wouldn’t be able to say anything about it if he’d been called on by Vogue Japan. 

* * *

  
  


Kiyoomi was, as usual, the first to walk out of showers before the rest of the team even stepped foot in it. He quickly changed into sweats and a loose shirt before donning the gold MSBY jacket, and meticulously put away the rest of his things into his duffle bag. The rest of the team were finally starting to make their way to the locker room when Kiyoomi left, barely managing to get out of the way as Miya rushed past him making a beeline for the showers. 

The entryway of the building was spacious, the walls lined with various framed posters giving one the impression of a museum exhibit. There, standing near the poster of his twin, was a familiar figure dressed in a navy blue hoodie and black ripped jeans. It’d been a while since Kiyoomi had seen him in anything but his work clothes. Miya Osamu looked up as he approached him, the sound of Kiyoomi’s footsteps echoing alerting him of his presence. 

Miya waved at him with a smile on his face that could only classify him as the poster boy of politeness, friendliness, and kindness “Oh hey, Sakusa-kun. I guess ’Tsumu ain't outta the showers yet?” 

“No.” 

“Damn, He always takes his sweet time,” Miya sighed, frowning at the poster of his twin. 

Kiyoomi wasn't really paying attention to him. Here was the man who was potential date number one right in front of him and currently having a conversation with him. He might as well ask now or he’d never get the chance to. If there was a chance to minimize or completely eradicate the possibility of having to ask Miya Atsumu for anything he’d take it. And this was just one of those chances. 

“Miya.” 

Osamu looked at him, eyebrows raised. He was certainly more pleasant than Atsumu, giving out the energy that you could confide almost anything and everything to him. “Need anything?” 

Kiyoomi wondered how he managed to come off as comforting given that the twins were basically cut from the same cloth, despite their differences in the way they had evolved into individual beings, a good part of them fundamentally remained the same. In that regard, Osamu was the meaner and more dangerous one. 

All things considered, his parents would really dote on him. 

“I have a-,” he managed to get out before freezing up.

Why? 

_Why?_

Why was he still making sure he would manage to get his parents’ approval? Why did he need _their_ approval over a person _he_ would date? Wasn’t the plan to _spite_ them? Not _please_ them? Gosh, when did he get so _fucking_ stupid. 

“Sakusa-kun?” concern evident in Miya’s voice. 

Kiyoomi looked at him, taking in his dark hair, broad shoulders, and tapered waist. He was attractive, yes handsome even, in ways that differed from his bleached hair counterpart but he wasn’t the one he needed. “Wrong twin.” 

Osamu’s eyes widened, his mouth slightly open as if he were trying to process what Kiyoomi had just said. Kiyoomi wondered if what he just did was rude but he didn’t dwell on it, as he turned on his heel and walked away leaving a stunned Miya in his wake. 

(And when he picked up the pace the moment Osamu was out of sight, he told himself that it was because he didn’t want to miss Atsumu. It definitely had nothing to do with the sudden surge of anxiety he felt over the fact that if he didn’t go through with it then, he’d never get the nerve to ever again.)

Atsumu was rummaging through his locker, back to the doorway, a towel around his shoulders and another around his waist, fresh out of the showers. He was the only one out so far, the rest taking their time with it if the sounds of his teammates singing coming from the stalls were anything to go by. Kiyoomi entered the room, heading towards him until he stood right behind an oblivious Atsumu, humming under his breath as he pulled his boxers free from inside his duffle bag. The bench separated the distance between them. 

"Miya." 

There was an unceremonious yelp and a string of cussing as if he'd been given the biggest scare of his life. "Omi-Omi, don't fucking do that, the fuck." 

"How else would you prefer I got your attention?" 

“By not standin’ behind me? By not walkin’ ‘bout like a ninja or somethin’” 

“Okay.” Kiyoomi stepped to the side, next to the lockers. Atsumu was still holding on to his boxers, staring at him in utter confusion. “Miya.”

“What’d ya want? Yer being creepy.” 

Well, it was now or never. “Name the price it’d take for you to be my date for dinner next month.”

Atsumu blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. A little laugh. “The fuck?”

“Don’t be unreasonable about it and dinner will be paid for. How does 5000 yen sound?”

Atsumu’s eyes were wide, the boxers dropping to the floor as he sat down on the bench behind him. The singing in the background turned into chatter which meant the others seemed to be finished with their showers. Kiyoomi vaguely realized that he’d managed to render both the twins speechless within a five-minute time span. 

“Are you okay?” 

Kiyoomi frowned. “I’m fine. Is the amount not enough?”

“Yer actually fuckin serious.”

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Omi-kun,” another weak laugh. “I don't think ya realize but yer tryin’ ta pay me to be yer date.” 

Their teammates had started trickling into the locker room. Kiyoomi offhandedly noticed the questioning glances they shot at him before politely looking away. Hinata, however, voiced his concern out loud. “Oh, Sakusa-san, you haven’t left yet?”

“I forgot something,” he replied, not taking his eyes off of Miya. 

Miya knitted his brows at him, expression disconcerted, before reaching down to pick up his boxers. “Lemme change we can finish this outside.” 

Kiyoomi waited, continuing to stand at the side while he changed. The rest kept glancing in their direction but for once, kept their curiosity to themselves. He knew they would start debating about what was going on between them the moment they left. 

Atsumu, now dressed in a black hoodie and sweats, grabbed his duffle bag. He looked at Kiyoomi for confirmation before they left the unusually silent locker room side by side. 

“So,” Atsumu spoke up, once he was sure they were out of earshot. “I’ll think about it..” 

“You’ll think about it?” Kiyoomi parroted. _What was there to even think about?_

“Omi-kun," he whined, his voice taking on the tone one would use to explain something to a seven-year-old child, "We hate each other.” 

“What does that have to do with this? I’m paying you.”

“Yer paying me," he continued in the same tone of voice, "Someone ya hate, to pretend to be yer boyfriend.” 

“It’s only for a night.”

Atsumu waved his hand as if swatting Kiyoomi's response away, “Semantics. On to more pressing issues: why? Why dinner?”

“My parents want to meet up.” 

That apparently wasn't the right thing to say as Atsumu stopped in his tracks, grabbing hold of Kiyoomi's elbow. “Yer paying me to meet your parents?!” 

“Yes, Miya. Keep up."

“Why me?” Weird, Kiyoomi thought, why was this the most vulnerable Atsumu has ever sounded.

“My parents won’t approve of you.”

Realization donned on Miya’s face as the pieces seemed to click together in his head. He did not really like the implications behind that expression. “Are you trying to spite your parents through me?” 

Kiyoomi stayed silent, choosing to continue ahead. He didn’t have to know.

“Wow, Omi-Omi," Atsumu smiled, speeding up so he was in step with him again. "I never pegged you as the type to be rebellious.” 

Kiyoomi scowled. “Will you do it or not?” 

“Hey Omi," a smug grin plastered on his face that grew wider with every word he spoke. Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes at him, he didn't like the look of this either. "Can't ya be a little more romantic about it?”

Kiyoomi wished he'd misheard him, “...What?”

“Ask me out properly," he nudged him with his elbow, ignoring the glare sent his way, "C’mon.” 

Kiyoomi glowered, raising himself up to his full height, using the 2-inch height he had over Atsumu to his advantage to look down on him like he was the filth in his bathtub's drain. “Will you be my date or not?” 

Maybe Miya Atsumu was braver than what he'd given him credit for or maybe he was just that much of a jerk that braveness had nothing to do with it. “That wasn’t romantic at all Omi-Omi. You're supposed to look more flustered and less murderous! But since yer kind enough to pay me for it, of course, I will think about it and get back to ya, babe.” 

Atsumu was leaning towards him, surprisingly careful about not invading Kiyoomi's personal space. While Kiyoomi did respect that, the smug smirk on his face pissed him off. Naturally, he shoved him. 

They were near the lobby now where Kiyoomi had left the other twin. Osamu hadn't moved from his spot in front of the setter's poster, typing something on his phone. He raised his head as they approached, eyebrows arched while he shot a questioning glance at his brother. 

It didn’t take long for Kiyoomi to realize that if he wanted to escape Atsumu’s pestering, this was his moment. 

With a slight bow of his head and a pointed look at Osamu, “Night, Miya,” he picked up the pace, heading towards the exit. A blast of cold breeze hit him in the face the moment the doors slid open in his presence. 

As Kiyoomi stepped out, Atsumu’s yell of “Where is my goodnight wish Omi-kun?!” escaped into the night with him.

* * *

  
  


**[10:34 PM] Komori :** Heard your parents are gonna be visiting soon

 **[10:34 PM] Komori :** Something about dinner

Next month. **: You [10:35 PM]**

 **[10:35 PM] Komori :** Also heard youve been dating someone

 **[10:35 PM] Komori :** Whod you ask to be your six month old s/o

He hasn’t confirmed yet. **: You [10:36 PM]**

 **[10:36 PM] Komori :** Is it ushijima-san

 **[10:36 PM] Komori :** I know youve a soft spot for him

No. **: You [10:36 PM]**

 **[10:37 PM] Komori :** For real ???? 

**[10:40 PM] Komori :** Please dont tell me you asked hiirugami sachirou

 **[10:40 PM] Komori :** And dont deny the fact you thought he was cute 

… **: You [10:42 PM]**

 **[10:42 PM] Komori :** Ohmygod 

I didn’t ask him. He was on the list though. **: You [10:43 PM]**

 **[10:43 PM] Komori :** You had a list 

**[10:43 PM] Komori :** Damn boy

I asked someone who wasn’t on the list. Making one turned out to be pointless. **: You [10:45 PM]**

You’ve been hanging out with Suna an awful lot. Three more months and I won’t be able to tell the two of you apart. **: You [10:46 PM]**

 **[10:46 PM] Komori :** Ha ha Sakusa 

**[10:46 PM] Komori :** Hilarious as always

 **[10: 49 PM] Komori :** Though if you need me for anything like getting out of the dinner, or leaving early just anything at all 

**[10:49 PM] Komori :** Even coming up with a date you know i got you right

I do. **: You [11:01 PM]**

  
  


* * *

Kiyoomi found himself awake at the godforsaken hour of 3:25 AM because his phone wouldn’t stop vibrating on the bedside table. No one usually texted him other than Komori and Wakatoshi, and he had the team’s group chat muted. He reached for his phone, squinting at the bright screen. 

**43 unread messages from Miya.**

Kiyoomi groaned into his pillow. He was going to strangle the life out of Miya the next time he saw him, he was going to rip him to shreds, pull him apart bit by bit. With his irritation growing with every new notification that popped up, he mentally braced himself and opened the chat. 

**[3:11 AM] Miya :** LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT 

**[3:11 AM] Miya :** YOUR FIRST CHOICE 

**[3:11 AM] Miya :** TO BE YOUR DATE

 **[3:11 AM] Miya :** WAS THE 

**[3:11 AM] Miya :** GODDAMN 

**[3:12 AM] Miya :** BANE OF MY EXISTENCE

 **[3:12 AM] Miya :** THE ONE WHO WOULDVE 

**[3:12 AM] Miya :** EATEN 

**[3:12 AM] Miya :** ME 

**[3:12 AM] Miya :** IN 

**[3:13 AM] Miya :** THE 

**[3:13 AM] Miya :** WOMB

 **[3:13 AM] Miya :** THE BIGGEST ASSHOLE IVE EVER KNOWN

 **[3:14 AM] Miya :** LIKE ???????????? 

**[3:14 AM] Miya :** SAMU OF ALL PEOPLE ????

 **[3:15 AM] Miya :** YOU WERE GONNA ASK SAMU BEFORE YOU ASKED ME ????????

 **[3:15 AM] Miya :** THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU 

Kiyoomi whipped his hand over his face, scrolling through the rest of the messages that he couldn’t be bothered to read. He was going to crucify Miya, absolutely skewer him. He couldn’t believe here he was risking his eyesight for this utter bullshit. 

**New messages**

_Outrageous._ It was too early for him to be this livid. 

**[3:27 AM] Miya :** I KNOW YOURE SEEING THIS 

**[3:28 AM] Miya :** ARE YOU LEAVING ME ON FUCKING READ NOW

 **[3:28 AM] Miya :** OH NO SIR YOURE NOT GETTING AWAY THIS EASILY 

Barely a second passed by when Miya’s name flashed across his screen. Goddamnit, He was going to skin him. He knew Miya wouldn’t let him live in peace if he were to decline and switch off his phone, Kiyoomi wouldn’t put it past him to show up banging at his door. Which, unfortunately, meant there was only one viable option and that was… 

He grimaced, staring hard at his phone. He was going to incinerate him. 

Kiyoomi answered the call. “What do you-” 

“YOU LEFT ME ON READ.” 

“Miya,” Kiyoomi snapped. “Its 3:30 AM” 

“Why're you awake then?”

“I am not. Your immature spamming woke me up.” 

“Well, I had a good reason to spam,” every inch of his tone matching that of a spoiled brat’s. Though Kiyoomi supposed, that was what Atsumu was. 

“You're being a child, goodnight.” 

“NO, DON’T YOU DARE CUT THE CALL OMI, I SWEAR.” There was the sound of something hitting the floor in the background, followed by a door banging open and the voice of someone shouting,“‘Tsumu, some of us are trying to SLEEP you jerk. KEEP IT DOWN.” 

“Listen to your brother,” Kiyoomi muttered, sitting up so his elbows were no longer digging into the mattress. 

“No,” Atsumu hissed, before, Kiyoomi assumed, putting the phone away from his mouth to yell at his twin. “MAYBE IF Y’ALL FOLLOWED WHAT YA PREACHED I’D ACTUALLY CARE!” 

“HEY ATSUMU! SUCK MY DICK!” ...Was that Suna? 

Kiyoomi didn’t have to spend time wondering if his guess was right as two voices answered back in sync. “SUNARIN, THAT’S FUCKING GROSS.”

 _Wow._

“Now, Omi-Omi. Where were we?” Calm and composed as if the past minute was a daily occurrence. 

“If you aren’t going to give me your answer, then I think we were in the process of saying goodnight.” 

“Don’t be like that, Omi. Not when you betrayed me-.”

Kiyoomi snorted. “It’s not like he would’ve agreed if he’s with Suna.” 

“That’s not the point.”

“Miya, stop being a brat. Goodnight.” 

He cut the call the moment Atsumu was about to respond. By some miracle, he didn’t call back.

* * *

**[4:20 AM] Miya :** i’ll do it

 **[4:20 AM] Miya :** imma be the best boyfriend u ever had 

* * *

“Do you have any allergies?” Kiyoomi asked, sliding over a mug across the table to his guest. 

Miya Atsumu raised his eyebrows, accepting the drink. “I start having a headache whenever Suna’s near. Does that count?” 

Kiyoomi glared at him. They’d been at it for five days now. Miya would come over and they’d go through things that Kiyoomi considered important, like possible scenarios of how things would go down, a list of questions his parents would ask, answers to said questions, and so on. He’d even brought out the whiteboard into the living room to write down the important bits while Miya diligently wrote them down in his stupid Bee Movie themed notebook, smirking every time he seemed to catch Kiyoomi glaring at it. 

(Miya found the memes of him as Barry annoying at first, laughing it off every time he saw them. It wasn’t until Kiyoomi accidentally let out that he couldn’t stop associating the bee to Miya, couldn’t stop being reminded of him every time he saw it, and how it frustrated him, that he’d begun to embrace it. Even going so far as to gifting Kiyoomi a Barry keychain for his birthday, a couple of months ago. 

“Y’know... so you’ll always think of me.” Miya had never looked so satisfied with himself as he was in that moment and Kiyoomi had never had the strongest urge he ever had to punch him until then.

The keychain was buried in the back of his closet, the keys to his room in the Sakusa’s main house attached to it.)

Today, however, the notebook was discarded on the coffee table and the whiteboard was untouched. For the past five days, Miya had kept going on about how most of this ‘wasn’t even necessary’ and how it was ‘real fucking stupid’, despite jotting down every piece of info Kiyoomi dished out. 

Today, Miya Atsumu had started complaining the moment he’d step foot inside and Kiyoomi had had _enough_. 

“Fine then. What do you propose?” he had snapped. 

Miya had looked rather taken aback at his response as he meekly suggested, “Y’know we could just get to know each other?”

So, here they were, Atsumu on the barstool cupping his hands around his mug while Kiyoomi stood on the other side of the counter, getting to know each other. 

“Anyway, my turn. Why’re you goin’ all out for this?” Miya inquired. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Most couples barely know each other, we could play it off as a fling.” He lifted his mug to his lips, taking a sip before continuing, his gaze never leaving Kiyoomi’s, voice going lower with every sentence. “Y’know, easy peasy. We wouldn’t need to know every itty bitty detail of each other. Since we’re on the same team having a fling is very believable. The two hottest members being fuck buddies? Trust me, no one’s gonna bat an eye.” 

Kiyoomi stilled, forcing himself to keep a straight face, forcing himself to not show a reaction, forcing himself to be calm. He cleared his throat, like the professional he was, he wasn’t going to be riled up or give Miya the satisfaction or whatever the fuck Miya wanted. What was Miya’s objective? Not that it mattered, Kiyoomi was an adult. “My parents would hardly believe me if I said I was having a fling.” 

Miya narrowed his eyes at him. “You panicked and said you’d been datin’ for ages, didn’t ya?”

 _Ah, well this is embarrassing_. Kiyoomi bit the inside of his lip, looking down at the contents of his mug, coffee with a hint of cinnamon, completely avoiding Miya’s gaze as he mumbled, “Six months.” 

He could hear Miya sip at his drink, taking his time with it. “Are ya expecting a six-month anniversary gift, babe?” 

Kiyoomi whipped his head up, just to catch Miya pouting at him like the brat he was. His eyebrow involuntarily twitched, “Yes. Your silence would be splendid.”

Miya laughed. “No way yer gonna get me to shut up that easily, Omi.” 

He didn’t reply, opting to finish up his drink instead. 

* * *

**[1:17 PM] Miya :** i was thinkin we’d ditch strategizing meeting for once n yknow 

**[1:17 PM] Miya :** practice our shit out in the world 

**[1:19 PM] Miya :** get lunch n shit 

**[1:20 PM] Miya :** u there lol 

I am. **: You [1:21 PM]**

 **[1:21 PM] Miya :** ohk so i was thinkin we’d go on a practice date

I read what you wrote the first time. **: You [1:22 PM]**

 **[1:24 PM] Miya :**...right 

**[1:27 PM] Miya :** so whatdya think lol 

Ok. **: You [1:28 PM]**

Do you have a place in mind? **: You [1:28 PM]**

 **[1:28 PM] Miya :** we’re doin it?

Yes? Do you suddenly not want to? **: You [1:29 PM]**

 **[1:29 PM] Miya :** no no 

**[1:30 PM] Miya :** i was just surprised lmao 

Sure. **: You [1:30 PM]**

 **[1:33 PM] Miya :** have u been to moto coffee

 **[1:34 PM] Miya :** _sent you a location_

**[1:34 PM] Miya :** its good its clean less people good food 

Oh okay. **: You [1:37 PM]**

Sounds good. **: You [1:37 PM]**

Meet you near the monument? **: You [1:38 PM]**

 **[1:39 PM] Miya :** yeaa see ya in two hours omi ;)

* * *

“Uh, I’ll have a cappuccino con cacao? Yea that and a bagel,” Miya ordered, looking at the menu. They were seated inside the cafe, near the big window that overlooked the Tosahori river passing by. 

“With cream cheese and blueberries, sir?” the waitress asked as she jotted it down. 

“Yes, please.” Out of the corner of his eye, Kiyoomi noticed Miya smile up at the waitress. She returned the smile, slightly dazed. Kiyoomi went back to looking out of the window, eyes following a speedboat as it went past, chin resting on the palm of his hand. 

“Noted. And him?” 

Kiyoomi could feel his gaze on him. He felt different today, Atsumu. “Omi-kun?” 

He turned towards the waitress, “Ginger lemon mint tea, please.” 

“Is that all?” 

“Yes.” 

“Your orders will be ready in around 15 minutes!” Kiyoomi watched her leave, mildly aware of Miya’s attention on him. 

Miya was dressed in a dark grey T-shirt and an olive green bomber jacket. For some reason, Kiyoomi couldn’t fathom, he was oddly subdued. He had barely spoken much when they’d met up, at least less than what was considered usual. He’d asked Kiyoomi if he’d ever been in this area before, pointing out things as they walked, and staring off into the distance as they crossed the bridge. He had even opened the door for Kiyoomi and asked where he’d prefer to sit. Kiyoomi looked at him, tilting his head as he did. “Are you okay?” 

The question seemed to jerk Miya out of his reverie or whatever it was he was doing inside that head of his. “I’m just fine.” 

“Really?” Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow. “You’re being odd, it’s unsettling.”

“You know what is unsettling?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the polished wooden table. “Ginger lemon mint tea.” 

Kiyoomi scoffed, guess he was just imagining it. 

“I’m bein’ serious though. Ginger, lemon, and mint on their own are something I can understand. But putting all three of them together? In a tea no less? That’s just gross.” 

“It’s healthy and their tastes complement each other in ways you wouldn’t understand.” 

“Sure,” Miya drawled. “Look, I like mint tea. Lemon tea makes me wanna die while ginger tea makes me wanna kill everyone else in the room and then myself. Putting them all together is fucked.”

Kiyoomi scowled, Miya was an absolute heathen. “Lemon helps your immune system and mint has anti-bacterial and anti-inflammatory properties. And ginger has amazing health benefits which include aiding in digestion, fighting nausea, soothing upset stomachs, and whatnot.” 

“Yer point?” He smirked, “Doesn’t change the fact that it tastes like shit.” 

“The flavors complement each other, your taste buds just aren’t developed.”

Miya snorted. “You know that’s not true, I grew up with ‘Samu.” 

“Tch.”

Miya settled back into his chair again, gazing out of the window, completely satisfied with himself. Kiyoomi watched him for a while, before turning away. Atsumu really was a brat most of the time.

“Y’know, you never did tell me,” Miya stated as the waitress left after placing their orders on the table. He tore open a sugar stache and dumped the contents into his drink before continuing, “Why ‘Samu was your first choice.”

Kiyoomi lowered his mask, idly observing the way Miya mixed his cappuccino. He cupped his hands around his own cup of tea, interlocking his fingers together, “My parents would’ve approved of him.” 

Miya stared at him, taking a sip of his drink... and immediately set it back down, frowning. “Hot.” 

Kiyoomi couldn’t help the smirk that graced his lips which only grew wider as Miya flipped him off. 

“Anyway,” Miya started, in an attempt to change the topic back to what it was before as he pulled his plate of bagel closer to himself. “What yer saying is that you were trying to attain your parents' validation," he began slicing the bagel with his knife, "before changing your mind and decided to piss them off instead?" 

Why was he so hung up on this? They should have made a contract. Kiyoomi really regretted not formulating a contract. 

_Rule #1: Don't be nosy._

"Yer not replying," Miya noted, taking a bite of his bagel. He closed his eyes, expression changing from skeptical to what could only be described as happiness as he savored it. "Mhmm, this is so good." 

Kiyoomi took a sip of his tea, pleased by the way the flavors blended together in his mouth. 

"I'm right," Miya said, pointing at him with his fork. "You've issues with yer parents."

Would it kill him to just _drop_ it. "If you plan on putting it like that, then yes, I have issues with them and I thought we had already established that." 

"We did, we did," he spoke around a mouthful of bagel, "Just confirming." 

They sat in silence for a while as Miya finished up his bagel, occasionally taking a sip of his cappuccino to wash it down, while Kiyoomi drank his tea. He hoped the silence meant that they'd moved on topic, but with the glint present in Miya's eyes he knew it was just wishful thinking. It didn't take long for him to realize why Miya Atsumu felt different today. 

His guess was confirmed as Miya pushed his empty plate away, pulling his drink towards him. "So." 

"So?" Kiyoomi inquired, dread filling his stomach as he took in Miya's expression, cold, harsh and mean. At that moment, he looked as condescending as he used to be in high school.

Miya Atsumu had the energy of someone who wanted to pick a fight, he wanted to rile someone up. Kiyoomi didn't know why, but that didn't change the fact that he was his target. 

“So, you've got daddy issues huh? That means abandonment issues, trust issues, completely explains why yer so uptight dontcha think”

If this was a Netflix sitcom and if Sakusa Kiyoomi was someone else, this would be the part where he’d reach over the table, hoisting Miya up from his chair by lifting him from the collar of his shirt, invading his personal space so their faces were inches from each other, in a way most people would label as homoerotic, while Miya gave him the smuggest look in existence like the absolute jerk he was. But Sakusa Kiyoomi wasn't someone else and he certainly wasn't in a Netflix sitcom so he sat there instead, cooly looking at Miya, refusing to give him the reaction he was hoping for, “No wonder, I preferred your brother.” 

Miya, for his part, didn’t volcanically erupt the way he normally would have, neither did he argue nor throw a fit. There was a subtle tilt to his head, an edge to his smile and a patronizing glint in his narrowed eyes. 

“Uhm, excuse me, sirs, can I clear this up?” 

Kiyoomi nodded, leaning away from the table. “Can we get the bill, please?” 

“Sure, in a moment.”

In an unspoken agreement, they split the bill. 

The sun hung low in the pink-orange tinged sky as they walked across the bridge, heading back to the Naniwa monument. The sunlight glinted off the river as it rushed under the bridge on Kiyoomi’s right while cars drove past on his left. 

Miya was on his left too, looking at the stone clobbered sidewalk with his hair tucked into a baseball cap that was low over his eyes. Kiyoomi felt that there was something left to be said even though he wasn’t sure what it was. 

(He was 97% sure.) 

His trenchcoat whipped around him as the breeze picked up. He stopped walking, Miya continued on. 

“Miya.” 

“Huh?” He whipped around when he realized Kiyoomi wasn’t beside him. “Did ya forget somethin’?” 

He was pretty, Kiyoomi had always known that. He could go as far as to admit that he was one of the most attractive people he’d ever come across. He somehow made his bleached hair work. He briefly wondered whether his hair would be tinted pink too from the sunlight, like his skin. 

“No.” 

But of course, none of that changed the fact that he was a jerk 76% of the time. 

“Okay, then what?” 

A decrease from the previous 89% he used to be. 

“Next time you try to channel your annoyance with something out on me, I will not tolerate it. I’m not your partner who has to deal with your flimsy mood swings and the way you project your anger by riling other people up. Besides being teammates, I don’t care about you and I certainly won’t be babying you. Our agreement was for the dinner and dinner alone, anything outside of that and I’ll cut a portion off of the agreed amount. Have a nice night, Miya.” 

He walked past him without sparing a glance at the bewilderment on his face. 

* * *

  
  


> **_V . LEAGUE DIVISION 1, MSBY BLACK JACKALS’ MIYA ATSUMU AND SAKUSA KIYOOMI SEEN LEAVING AFTER COFFEE DATE TOGETHER_ **
> 
> **_Does their chemistry go beyond volleyball?_ **
> 
> **_[ Read more]_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moto coffee is a real cafe in osaka im actually trying to attempt being thorough for once but damn descriptions are . kinda hard oh and ive no idea what ginger lemon mint tea tastes like so i coped out of describing it i will edit Later i swear. one day
> 
> i hope the 18 day wait for this chapter was worth it n i'd love to hear what you think about this chapter too i really really love reading your comments mwah n thank you for reading this <3 
> 
> also you can yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/inrizaki) (please)


	3. actually chap 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: mild bouts of anxiety, lots of (over)thinking and homoeroticism that comes with shopping for suits with the man you're pretending to date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> imma be honest w you ive no idea how i managed 10k in like 3 weeks with the shit ton of assignments uni keeps dumping at me 
> 
> anyway hi i hope the wait was worth it for this chapter im actually pretty nervous abt how this came out lol 
> 
> also this chapter is dedicated to marty (belated happy birthday please accept this chapter as my humble offering) you're basically responsible for a good portion of this chapter ily

Trust was a fickle thing. Sakusa Kiyoomi’s stance never changed on it. He’d always been critical of protags in media who trusted everything that so much as breathed and feigned surprise when it came to bite them in the back. Having complete confidence in someone you’ve just met was a dumb move. Heck, to have complete confidence in anyone without proof or evidence backing it up was stupid. Though, to be fair, Kiyoomi couldn’t really see himself trusting anyone for that matter. To completely give oneself up to another with full confidence that they’d keep you together and not take you apart, to let them make your choices for you even when it was life and death, to know they’d have your best interests at heart even if it didn’t match with their own, to believe in others that they wouldn’t betray you; wasn’t that what it meant to trust someone? 

Komori had laughed and told him he was being dramatic again. “Though I suppose that makes us lucky,” Komori had said, smiling as he looked up at the evening sky swathed in shades of violets. “We’re more likely to live out our whole lives without facing something that's life or death.”

“There are other ways to be betrayed and have your life ruined that doesn’t necessarily involve near-death experiences or sabotage over a seat of power,” Kiyoomi had pointed out, refusing to let it go. “Relationships are a good example.” 

“Don’t you think they’re brave though?” Komori had turned to look at him then, “Falling in love and hoping their hearts won’t be in pieces by the end of it?” 

Kiyoomi didn’t and Komori could tell. 

“Well, aren’t you trusting me right now?” Komori had asked, a sly grin plastered on his face. “You’re baring your soul out to me.” 

“That’s different.” 

“How so?” 

Kiyoomi had glanced at Komori, taking in the genuine curiosity lingering in his eyes and the traces of his signature teasing smile on his lips. Komori Motoya who’d run back to the dorms to grab Kiyoomi’s newly bought pack of face masks that he’d forgotten to pack, who’d stayed by his side even when he didn’t he had to, who’d always respected his boundaries, who’d assigned himself as Kiyoomi’s damage control, who’d been there even during the days when Kiyoomi shut everyone out. 

“It just is.” 

* * *

  
  


Can you come over tomorrow? **: You [9:57 PM]**

**[9:58 PM] Komori :** I was going to show up regardless 

Thank you, Komori. **: You [10:04 PM]**

* * *

  
  


“I still can’t believe this. Like for real?” Komori Motoya, Sakusa Kiyoomi’s trusted confidant, best friend, and cousin asked for what was the seventh time that morning. They were out on Kiyoomi’s rather spacious balcony, Komori stood with his back leaning against the glass railing as he rested his elbows on it while Kiyoomi sat at the picnic table amongst the plants. “Out of everyone else you know, you asked Miya Atsumu? The man who, at the core of his being, is the human personification of Rihanna’s entire discography?” 

Kiyoomi cut away at the stray branches of one of his Maidenhair Fern with his gardening scissors, “I had my reasons.” 

He didn’t need to look at Komori to know he had narrowed his eyes at him, “Sakusa, is it worth it?” 

_ Is it indeed?  _ Kiyoomi had lost track of the number of times he’d asked himself that. It didn’t matter though because the conclusion never changed.  __ “It’s not like I can back out now.”

“You should’ve asked Hirugami,” Komori sighed, tilting his head back to look at the clouds scattered across the expanse of sky. It reminded Kiyoomi of comparatively simpler times when they were in their third years engaging in deep meaning conversations about mere things like trust. 

Kiyoomi laughed, the sound of it muffled into his turtleneck as he ducked his head down. 

“Do you regret it?” Komori asked, a quizzical look in his eyes. 

“Asking him or snapping at him?” 

“You wouldn’t have called me over if you didn’t,” Komori noted. 

“Does it matter?” Kiyoomi cut another stray twig with perhaps more force than he intended to. “He’s not going to apologize. I don’t expect him to.” 

“They’re calling your bickering around on the court as prominent sexual tension,” Komori pointed out as Kiyoomi cleaned the blade of the scissors before setting it back in the gardening toolbox. A part of him wished Komori hadn’t brought up the article again. “They’ve seen his car leave your building the past couple days, they’re convinced the two of you are a thing who are now starting to go public. And you think he’s planned this.”

“It makes sense.” 

“You could never figure him out,” Komori stated with the elegance of a lawyer presenting his case before a jury.

Kiyoomi didn’t reply. Not that it was necessary, Komori seemed to have locked in on him even when he tried to hide away the mannerisms that usually gave him away. He was always an open book when it came to him. He supposed knowing someone for over twenty years tended to do that. 

“You still can’t, can you?” And there it was, the finishing blow. 

“He wouldn’t have agreed to him if it didn’t benefit him in some way,” Kiyoomi defended, even if it was all for naught because regardless of why, regardless of his unknown motives, Sakusa Kiyoomi was stuck with him. “He’s the one who suggested going out.”

“Isn’t one of the sole reasons for his existence to spite his twin?” 

“I think his sole reason for existing is to spite humanity.”

Komori huffed out a laugh, stepping away from the railing, “Dramatic as always.”

* * *

“Do ya honestly think you can go around avoidin’ me?” Miya hissed, standing as close as he could without encroaching Kiyoomi’s bubble. 

“Yes,” he replied, continuing to sort through his locker as if he hadn’t been interrupted, refusing to so much as spare a glance at the setter. It’d been a week since the article came out, a week of successfully avoiding Miya Atsumu, a week of blissful peace. 

“Fuck ya. We needa talk.” He sounded... frustrated. 

“Do we?” 

“Ya think I’m responsible for all this, dontcha?” Desperate? That was probably a reach. What reason did he have to be desperate?

“Aren’t you?” Kiyoomi bit out, grabbing at his jersey and stashing it into his duffle bag. 

“Yer fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?” Incredulous.  _ The nerve.  _

Kiyoomi turned to face him, the very sight of Miya making his blood singe. His bleached blond hair was wet and slicked back, a towel balled up in his fist. He had hastily dressed as fast as he could, Kiyoomi assumed, judging by the way his ratty muscle tee was half-tucked into the waistband of his shorts. He certainly looked pissed off as he glared at him, chin jutting out. Kiyoomi’s lip curled, “Am I?”

Miya’s hand surged forward as if to grab at the front of Kiyoomi’s shirt before seeming to think better of it and slamming his fist onto the locker next to him, the metallic clang echoing harshly around them. Kiyoomi didn’t know whether to consider themselves lucky that they were the only ones in the room, their teammates giving them a wide berth as they remained loitering around on the court, despite finishing warm-up ages ago. Apparently, they had all come to the common conclusion of avoiding both of them especially after having a front-row view of the simmering tension between them. “How lowly do ya think of me?”

_ That's harsh of you, Miya. You don’t- You don’t get to play that card.  _

“Miya,” Kiyoomi’s clenched his fist, nails pressing into skin, momentarily grounding him. His mind was a flurry of thoughts and questions like the one he kept asking himself pushed itself to the forefront of his mind and ultimately tumbled out of his mouth, the words leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.“Why did you agree to this? Don’t say it’s to spite your twin. I know it’s more than that.”

“Why’d I agree?” Miya parroted his question, eyes wide as he pressed his hand to his chest in mock surprise. 

“It’s not the money. It’s not Osamu,” Kiyoomi spoke before he could stop himself. He wondered if punching a locker too would stop his fist from shaking. Is this what it felt like as meteorites crash into the Earth’s atmosphere, the friction from the air heating it up like layers burning away, exposing what was within? “What are you getting out of this? The satisfaction of seeing me at my worst? The possibility of all of my weaknesses being on display? Which is it?”

Kiyoomi knew this at least warranted a collar grab but Miya didn’t reach out towards him. Instead, a certain sense of calmness seemed to take over him, making the air around them frigid with tension, more than it was before, as he asked in an icy venomous tone that sent a chill down Kiyoomi’s spine, almost as if Miya had pressed a dagger into the small of his back, “Ya don't remember, do ya?” 

Kiyoomi inhaled sharply.  _ What was he talking about? _

“Yer expression says ya don’t.”

He swallowed, his throat going dry, as he once again found himself in a staredown with his setter. 

“Y’know what? Fine, I’ll admit it,” Miya smiled, sharp teeth, sharp words, equally sharp eyes. “ I’m guilty.” He stepped closer. “But the paparazzi ain’t my doin’.” 

“You…”

“It’s true. I just wanted ta rile ya up, piss ya off, put a crack in yer dainty lil’ facade. That’s all there is to it.” 

Kiyoomi felt like he was burning, flames crawling along his skin, inching across the surface, heating up every bit of him. Was this what it feels like when the meteorite enters the Earth’s atmosphere? “Fucking jerk,” then louder, “you’re a fucking jerk, Miya.”

Miya stepped in close, for the first time pushing through the barrier Kiyoomi had put up around himself, for the first time invading his personal space. Kiyoomi stood his ground, even as Miya leaned in close, he could count his eyelashes, see the specks of gold in the brown of his contacts, feel his breath grazing his skin as he spoke, “And ya already knew that, didntcha? Consider this payback five years overdue.”

And with that Miya stepped away, walking over to the door. He paused for a moment turning to look over his shoulder, eyes glinting as if he was letting Kiyoomi in on a secret, “Guess the paps worked in my favor though, dontcha think?”

  
  
  


That night, Kiyoomi scrubbed himself raw, spending hours upon hours in the shower rubbing at his skin, cleansing himself, allowing the scalding water to wash away the filth and eventually his tears. 

When he finally stepped out, having pulled himself together, he switched off his phone without sparing a glance at the incoming text messages and the three missed calls he’d received. 

* * *

  
  


Sakusa Kiyoomi sat, perched upon the bar stool in his penthouse, wrapped up in his satin robe as he stared at his phone placed on the marble counter. 

This was quite literally the worst-case scenario possible, though if he were to sit and think about it delve into every possibility of how things could go on from here there was a good chance it could only get worse. But that was overthinking and he doesn’t overthink, there’s no reason to overthink and he certainly was not overthinking about overthinking. 

He wasn’t stupid he knew what Miya meant, knew it when he first saw the headline, knew it when Komori asked him if he regretted it. There was no way he could’ve asked someone else to step in, not right now. He was stuck with Miya and if he were to sit and drown himself in regret and self-pity, he’d still be stuck with Miya. Nothing was going to change that. The paparazzi made sure of it, his mother ringing him up made sure of it, the smug smirk on Miya’s face he tossed over his shoulder before he left made sure of it. 

It didn’t matter if he didn’t pay him because he was still stuck with him. The whole world believed he was stuck with him and that’s just how it was. 

He sighed, there was no use prolonging this. He reluctantly reached out for his phone and unlocked it before scrolling through his contacts to click on his mother’s. 

As usual, she picked up on the third ring. “Miya Atsumu?” 

Even though Kiyoomi knew that his name would’ve been the first thing she’d utter, he couldn’t help the dread that settled in his chest once again making itself home. He wasn’t dreaming this, this was reality. A pit seemed to open up inside of him, his hopes falling through into the void. He felt doomed. There was no way out of it, he was trapped. He’d just gone ahead and trapped himself into dinner with the people he hated, the people who could read him like a book, the people who made him feel vulnerable and on display. 

“Yeah, Miya Atsumu,” Kiyoomi replied.

  
  


Komori, I fucked up.  **: You [6:18 PM]**

  
  
  


Almost immediately, Kiyoomi’s phone began to ring as if Komori had been about to call him even if he hadn't messaged him. He looked at the screen about to accept the call when he saw his own face looking up at him with Komori’s caller id across it. Ah, he facetimed him. 

Kiyoomi ran a hand through his hair, staring at himself for a moment with an odd feeling of detachment before accepting the call. Komori came into view sitting on his sofa and peering at him through the screen. Kiyoomi could make out his apartment in the background, the warm cozy feel it gave off somehow managing to transmit itself through the device. There was someone else there too, barely making it into the frame as they stood in the kitchen, tall with dark hair that pointed to the sides in a way that seemed familiar. 

"Wow, you look miserable,” Komori commented, concern etched into the knit of his brows. “How bad is it?"

“Mother called.” 

“Ah, fuck.” 

And maybe that’s all it took for Kiyoomi’s filter to go off, “He's a slimy piece of shit, that motherfucking bastard. Who the goddamn fuck does he even think he is? He’s nothing but a fucking menace to society." 

“Are we bitching about Atsumu?” a cheerful and familiar voice joined in. Suna Rintarou entered the frame, smiling as he sat down on the couch next to Komori, handing him one of the drinks he’d been holding. “Count me in.”

Komori laughed, holding the phone out at an angle so Suna would be able to see too. “Are you sure you can’t cancel?” 

“That's running away,” Kiyoomi sighed. “That's what he expects.”

“Yup, wouldn't recommend,” Suna agreed with a grave nod of his head. “He'd gloat it over you for the rest of your life. You're gonna have to go through with it. " 

Kiyoomi shot a subtle glance at Komori, asking him what he couldn’t get himself to ask aloud. 

Luckily for him, Komori managed to grasp what it was in an instant. “Yeah, Sunarin knows. He stays with the twins on most days.”

Suna ducked his head in affirmation. “Atsumu doesn’t shut up.”

“Oh.”

There’s the sound of the doorbell going off on Komori’s end of the line. “Guess the food’s here,” Komori grinned, handing the phone to Suna before stepping out of the frame to go receive their order. 

“If it makes you feel any better,” Suna spoke up after a moment, turning his attention back to Kiyoomi as sounds of Komori conversing with the delivery person could be heard in the background. “He looked pretty guilty after coming back from the date.”

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes at him. Did he really expect him to feel sympathy for that jerk? Did he really think that  _ he _ suddenly feeling a certain human emotion out of the blue was going to make things okay? Did he actually think-

“Ah, you don't have to take my word for it,” Suna amended, apologetic under the alarming rate at which the intensity of Kiyoomi’s glare had been increasing. “I know he’s difficult.” 

He bit the inside of his lip. Suna didn’t seem like he was trying to push the agenda of getting Kiyoomi to feel bad for Atsumu. This was as good as a chance as he was ever going to get if he wanted some insight on what Miya had been going on about. “Suna-san, did he ever mention something about a grudge?” 

The door shut and there was the clang of the deadbolt being slipped into place. Suna frowned, eyebrows knitted together, deep in thought for a moment before responding. “Not particularly? The article threw him off-kilter for a bit. Osamu’s been nagging me about Atsumu nagging him about it. Did he say something?” 

“Massively implied there was.”

“Ah,” he leaned back against the sofa, “From personal experience, there's a good chance he’s over exaggerating and it’ll turn out to be something extremely minor. Wouldn’t lose sleep over it. He’s a dick, sucks that you’re stuck with him but he’s gotten easier to handle, you’ll be fine Sakusa-kun.”

Before Kiyoomi could reply, Komori stepped into view again. There were two large boxes of pizza precariously balanced on one hand while two smaller boxes of what he assumed were probably garlic bread were in the other. “What did I miss?” 

Suna grinned, the expression making him look fox-like, “Me being the best advice giver there is.”

An amused puff of laughter found its way out of Kiyoomi’s mouth, as he hastily covered his mouth with his hand. Maybe, he wondered as the conversation switched over to whatever had happened at EJP’s practice that day, things weren’t that bad. 

* * *

“Okay, what?”

“What?” Kiyoomi echoed, poking at his food with his fork. Miya was once again sitting across from him, leaning against his seat, arms crossing over his chest as he eyed Kiyoomi, his order left untouched. They were sitting at a Starbucks branch that had been halfway between their places. He glanced at his watch as he took a bite of his salad. Huh, a whole hour had passed since they’d entered. A whole hour of Miya sitting in silence, Kiyoomi noted. Must’ve been his first. 

“Yer the one who called me here,” Miya pointed out with the grace of a seven-year-old child. 

“I did," Kiyoomi agreed.

“What fer?” 

_ Wasn't it obvious _ ? Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow at him, taking in the defensive tilt of his head, “Keeping up appearances.” 

Disbelief painted itself over his features as he continued to observe Kiyoomi finish his meal. “Oh?”

He placed his fork down on the plate and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before crumbling it up and dropping it where it joined the fork. He pushed the plate away from him as if it were an object of offense. “I just have to tolerate you till next week.”

He glanced up at Miya then and immediately regretted doing so. Why? Why was he looking at him like he was naive? Why did he look so goddamned skeptical? “Ya neva told me where this alleged dinner takes place.”

“Ritz,” he supplied in a tone one would use to address the filth on the bottom of their shoes. 

Miya's eyes went wide as he sat a little straighter. “Yer kiddin’ right?” 

“No,” Kiyoomi replied slowly, paying close attention to Miya's reactions, “that’s where my mother wants to meet up.”

“The fuckin’ Ritz-Carlton?”

“Yes, La Baie,” Kiyoomi confirmed.

Miya leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, hands wrung together as if he were about to propose a business deal. “Y’know it has a dress code right?” 

Kiyoomi blinked. “It has a what?”

“Dress code,” Miya repeated. “We’re gonna hafta suit up.” 

“Suits.” 

“Yeah, suits.” He frowned, “Ya really didn't not know that?” 

“...No,” Kiyoomi painfully admitted.

“You’v’d me over to yer fancy penthouse,” Miya began, mouth quirked into an amused smirk, “comin’ up with plans ‘nd shit only ta tell me you’d no idea about the basic requirements? Wow, Omi yer really somethin’ y’know.” 

“Be quiet.” Kiyoomi couldn't help the pout that adorned his face as he turned his head to the side refusing to look at Miya. Not that he had to, he could practically feel the shit-eating grin he was sporting that only grew wider when Kiyoomi kicked his ankle under the table. 

Kiyoomi ignored him, choosing to dig his phone out of the pocket of his coat along with a lens cleaning cloth he'd stashed away. He wiped the screen, pocketing the cloth once again before unlocking his phone. He typed 'ritz osaka dress code' into the search bar and stared at the first result. 

> La Baie is a more formal French restaurant with a fixed  **dress code** : casual smart at lunchtime, and “sophisticated elegant” for dinner. As a rule of thumb, this means, no shorts, t-shirts, or sandals, and a shirt and jacket for men is recommended in the evening. Courses include a variety of carefully crafted dainty meat and shell-fish dishes and judging from the pigeon, beef, duck, and foie gras on the a la carte menu, La Baie is a paradise for the sophisticated carnivore. Sommeliers can assist with choosing appropriate wines for each course.
> 
> The Ritz-Carlton Osaka – Osaka Station
> 
> www.osakastation.com › the-ritz-carlton-osaka

“Sophisticated elegance?” 

“Ya shouldn’t be havin’ a problem with that," Miya replied around a mouthful of his sandwich. 

Kiyoomi's mind stalled halfway through processing what he'd just heard. He glanced at Miya through his lashes in an attempt to discern whether or not he was being serious. Miya, for once, looked like he meant what he said if the lack of the teasing glint in his eye was anything to go by. Kiyoomi turned his attention back to his phone. “Shirt and jacket are a must.”

“We can just wear what we wore at events, right?” 

“Miya, we gave those back.” The memory of Miya dressed in a pastel purple colored satin shirt made its way to the forefront of his mind. “And what you wore wasn’t sophisticated.” 

Miya pouted at him, a streak of mayonnaise on the side of his mouth. “It was Dior.”

Kiyoomi sighed, putting his phone away. “We’re going to need suits.” 

“Free this weekend?” Miya asked, roughly wiping at his mouth with a napkin. 

“Yes.” He wasn’t suggesting what Kiyoomi thought he was, was he? “Why?” 

Miya took his time to respond. He downed the contents of his cup in one go, which honestly baffled Kiyoomi because it wasn’t water or alcohol, it was fucking espresso; espresso that had gone cold fifty-seven minutes ago. He put the cup down, swiping his thumb across his lower lip. Kiyoomi scowled at him in distaste, reaching into his pocket for his hand sanitizer. He uncapped the lid with a flick of his thumb and held it out towards Miya. The blond’s gaze flicked between his hand and his face before finally putting out his hand palm up just as Kiyoomi’s patience was starting to run thin. 

“We,” Miya finally replied, gracefully rubbing his hands together and, to Kiyoomi’s approval, in between his fingers and the back of his palm, “are goin’ shoppin’.” 

* * *

  
  


I’m outside. Where are you? **: You [08:34 AM]**

  
  


Kiyoomi stared at the message, debating whether or not he should just call him instead. 

Not that it mattered because moments later Miya stepped out of his building, dressed in his typical attire consisting of an oversized sweatshirt with his shirt poking out from underneath and ripped jeans. He looked around before spotting Kiyoomi’s car and dashed across the road to where it was parked, only to stop halfway to turn to look up at his building. Kiyoomi watched him raise his hand, flipping someone off, the sunlight glinting off his hair. He glanced upwards through the windshield, impatiently tapping his finger against the wheel, to see a familiar figure out on the balcony on one of the higher floors, dressed in a robe and blowing kisses at Miya. At a second glance, Kiyoomi realized it was none other than Suna. 

There was a click as the passenger door opened and Kiyoomi angled his head to watch as Miya entered, the sunlight around his head like a halo. He grinned, “How ya doin’, Omi-Omi?” 

“If you get footprints on the seat or the floor, I’ll run you over.” 

Miya laughed as he sat down and shut the door. He looked around the car, admiring it, studying it, running his fingers along the dashboard before settling back into his seat. “Real fancy, this suits you.” 

Kiyoomi ignored him and shifted gears from park to drive, but didn’t make any effort to move. He gripped the steering wheel and glanced at Miya. He still hadn’t worn his seatbelt. 

“Well?” Miya turned to him, completely unaware of what he was missing. “Let’s get goin’.” 

“Seatbelt.”

Kiyoomi could feel his gaze linger on him, and could see him open his mouth to say something out of the corner of his eye. Surprisingly though, Miya kept his thoughts to himself as he wore the seatbelt and shifted in his seat to make himself comfortable. 

Satisfied, he shifted gears and pulled away from the curb. 

  
  


The car ride was a quiet affair for a total of 7 minutes 31 seconds. At the 7th minute 32nd second mark, Miya reached out for the AUX cord… or the equivalent of the AUX cord, to be specific. To Kiyoomi’s annoyance, he tapped away at the touch screen of the DB 11’s in-dash stereo and connected his phone to it through the Bluetooth. The next thing he knew, a sound that sounded like someone scratching their nails against a chalkboard spilled in from the speakers shortly followed by drum beats mixing together with electronic ones. 

_ ‘ _ _ Here-here is the future, future, future _ _.’  _

More electronic beats that grated against his eardrums. High pitched warbling that sounded like a five-year-old child screaming the lyrics in an attempt to be punk. All in all, it sounded like having a stroke but futuristic. 

_ ‘I dress like I'm in jet-set (God damn) _  
_ Knock a pussy out just like a bed set (Sheesh)’ _

Kiyoomi gripped the wheel, clenching his jaw as he tried to focus on driving and not missing the turn. Miya was humming along, bobbing his head to the beat as he continued to scroll through his phone as if nothing was amiss. 

_ ‘I feel like a gg with my headset _  
_ Death is your kismet (Right)’  _

“Turn that shit off,” he growled, turning a hard right. 

“What?” Miya innocently asked, his hand gripping the armrest to steady himself from the sudden turn. “Ya don’t like it?”

“No,” he snapped, it was too early to be getting a headache, too fucking early. At least, he could do something about it. “Aston, disconnect Bluetooth.” 

_ ‘Bluetooth successfully disconnected.’ _

Miya let out a low whistle. “Fancy.” 

30 minutes until they get there.  _ 30 minutes, Kiyoomi. 30 minutes and you’re free, no longer confined in this compact space with him.  _

Miya cleared his throat. “Aston, connect Bluetooth.”

What the fuck? Kiyoomi barely managed switching lanes without crashing into the car that was beside them. 

_ ‘Bluetooth successfully connected to device “nation’s #1 setter, baby”.’ _

Goddammit, he should have set up the voice recognition software when he bought the car. 

“Don't worry, Omi-kun!” Miya smiled at him, mischief dancing along the curve of his mouth. Kiyoomi wanted to kick him out of the car into the ongoing traffic. “This one's way nicer!”

“I highly doubt that.” 

Electronic beats once again filled up the car, this time more shallow and less obnoxious. It certainly was an improvement as compared to the previous song. Or it was, until a heavily autotuned and modulated voice began to belt out the first line and of lyrics and Kiyoomi went back to wanting to claw his ears out. 

_ ‘I was trying to find a way to kill time _  
_ I didn't even get-’ _

“Aston, disconnect Bluetooth.” 

_ ‘Bluetooth successfully disconnected.’ _

“Omi,” Miya whined, putting out his lower lip. “Ya let Kismet last longer than this.” 

“Your music taste is horrendous.” 

“It’s not!” 

“Yes, it is.”

“It is not,” Miya argued, burying his face back into his phone. “And I’m gonna prove that.”

Kiyoomi scoffed. “Knock yourself.” 

“Aston, connect Bluetooth,” Miya commanded. 

_ ‘Bluetooth successfully connected to device “nation’s #1 setter, baby”.’ _

He turned to Kiyoomi with the brightest smile on his face he had ever seen. It almost rivaled Hinata’s. Kiyoomi didn’t trust it one bit. “Hey Omi?”

“...Yeah?”

“This one’s for you.” 

Was that country-

_ ‘Hey you lil' piss baby, you think you're so fucking cool? _  
_ Huh? _  
_ You think you're so fucking tough?’ _

What the actual fuck?

_ ‘You talk a lotta big game for someone with such a small truck _  
_ Aw, look at those arms _  
_ Your arms look so fucking cute _  
_ They look like lil' cigarettes _

_ I bet I could smoke you _  
_ I could roast you _  
_ And then you'd love it and you'd text me "I love you" and then I'd fucking ghost yo-’ _

Kiyoomi swerved the car across two lanes, cutting through the traffic and ignoring the sounds of horns blaring in his wake. Miya nearly hit his head hard on the window with the sudden change in direction but he was laughing too hard to care, the sound of it mixing itself up with the song. 

“Omi,” he giggled before breaking out into another bout of laughter as Kiyoomi parked besides the sidewalk. “Gosh yer the best, Omi.”

“Aston, disconnect Bluetooth.”

_ ‘Bluetooth successfully disconnected.’ _

“That was the best,” Miya wheezed, as his laughter died down. “Yer the best.”

“Pull that shit again and you’re walking.” 

“Yer wish is my command, Omi-Omi.”

  
  
  
  


When they finally arrived in the Kakuda-Cho area in the Kita-Ku ward, with its tall office buildings, the sunlight glinting off the sides, and its designer stores scattered around the area, Miya suggested starting from the stores that were nearest to them and working their way deeper. Kiyoomi disagreed; starting with the stores where they would have a higher probability of finding something was smarter. He wasn’t about to spend his whole day trying on clothes  that he had no idea whose body it had hung off of, whose skin it had laid on before his own  with none other than Miya Atsumu for company. He thought Miya would’ve argued back, but instead he had nodded, expression akin to sympathy which was not something Kiyoomi wanted to dwell on and asked him which place he had in mind for their first stop. 

“Alexander McQueen.” 

Neither of them was familiar with the place which led to them having to walk around until they ultimately came across it. It wasn’t particularly unpleasant, Kiyoomi noted. Miya kept his distance, made sure their arms didn’t brush and didn’t engage in small talk. He’d worn sunglasses to keep his anonymity, not that it did him any good with his height and blond hair. Kiyoomi could feel the gaze of passersby around them on his back and as he adjusted his dark-colored face mask, he hoped no one recognized them. 

Once again, Miya pushed the door open for him allowing Kiyoomi to enter before him. Once again, he tried not to think too much of it. 

Cold frigid air from the air conditioning unit hit the back of his neck making him shudder. Miya glanced at him, question in his eyes:  _ Are you okay? _

Kiyoomi nodded, avoiding his gaze. 

The interior of the store was well lit and bright while not being too heavy on the eyes. The set up was fancy which, Kiyoomi realized, was something that was to be expected. Marble flooring and intricate carvings on the walls, cloth racks pushed to the sides, a catalog book on the coffee table as modern looking leather seats were placed around it. The only coworker insight was busy fluffing up one of the dresses that were on display. They nodded in their direction, to let them know that they’d be with them in a moment. 

“Kinda feels like yer penthouse but in white instead of grey,” Miya commented, hands dug deep into the pocket of his jeans, “not counting the walls.” 

“Not counting the walls,” Kiyoomi agreed as they strode further in, making a beeline to where the suits were. 

Miya began sorting through them, zeroing in on one in particular with its golden embroidery. “What'd ya think?”

“Could go with your hair if it was a shade lighter,” Kiyoomi replied, eyeing it as Miya took it off the rack and began to examine it. 

“May I help you sirs?” the attendant inquired, having finally finished their task. “Is there anything in particular that you're looking for?”

“We're lookin' fer suits,” Miya smiled, flashing his teeth in that way of his which he supposed was meant to be charming. He stepped back to stand by Kiyoomi's side, their arms brushing as he did. “Somethin' sophisticated and elegant y'know?”

“For both of you?” 

Kiyoomi cleared his throat. “Yes, please.”

They studied them for a moment, Kiyoomi almost found himself squirming under their gaze. Did they recognize them? Did they know who they were? At some point, upon entering the store, Miya had taken off his shades. Did they realize who they were helping-

“I think I've figured out which sizes would fit you best,” they said, tapping their chin before shifting through the rack and occasionally glanced back to assess them. Three minutes later, they ushered them to the trial rooms, handing both of them their respective suits. 

“I'll have a couple more set out for the both of you in the waiting area,” they gestured towards the space in front of the stalls. A sofa, as clean-cut as the seats out on the floor, was against one wall. Four massive floor to ceiling mirrors were set along the curve of another. Kiyoomi figured it was so one could view their outfit from all possible angles. “Until then, try these on and if you have any other specifications please let me know.”

They inclined their head a little before taking their leave. 

“Well, Omi,” Miya asked, looking at himself in the mirror as he pressed his suit against his torso. “Whatdya think?” 

Kiyoomi took in the shiny material of the cloth, the way it looked like liquid platinum from the overhead lights. His gaze met Miya's in the mirror and he uttered the first word he could think of, “Metallic.” 

If Kiyoomi had looked away he would've missed the minuscule quirk of his lips accompanied with a slight raise of his eyebrows. But Kiyoomi didn't look away which meant he also didn't miss the brief flicker of fondness that crossed over Miya's face, his eyes softening as he did. 

Kiyoomi wished he had looked away. 

The inside of the trial rooms were just as fancy as the outside. An armchair sat in one corner next to a small table with a ceramic vase full of roses, bleeding red into the predominantly white surroundings. Kiyoomi hung his suit on the rack before taking his coat off and placing it on the armrest of the seat. The leather gloves came off next, cool air hitting the exposed skin of his hands as he placed them on the table, careful to not brush his fingers against it. 

He dipped his hand into the pocket of his coat and pulled out his sanitizer, applied the usual pea-sized amount before rubbing his hands together until it dried. 

And then the full-sleeved T-shirt came off, going over his head in a swift movement and found itself buried into the inside of his coat. His reflection stared back at him, bare-chested and stoic with his face mask still in place, curls in slight disarray. He broke the stare. 

Kiyoomi pushed the blazer off of the hanger, gently placing it on the table as he took solace in the fact that they were probably the first customers of the day. He unbuttoned the crisp white shirt, freeing it and proceeded to put it on. It was a comfortable fit, not too tight but snug enough to fit against his figure, leaving little to the imagination. 

Shoes were kicked off and he was left standing in his socks. Belt unbuckled, trousers pulled down and draped on the seat. Pants falling away from the hanger with a tug. Right foot in the right leg, left foot in the left leg. Pulling the pant up and efficiently tucking the shirt in before zipping it up. 

The Blazer was on last. Kiyoomi finally looked at himself in the mirror again, fully dressed and buttoning up the cuffs of his shirt. It was elegant, he thought, the gold was rather pale but it worked. Maybe switch the shirt out for a black one. Yes, that would do. 

“Hey, Omi?” Miya called out, breaking Kiyoomi out of his thoughts. “Ya done?”

He didn't bother responding, instead choosing to unlock the door and step outside. Miya was standing in front of the mirror in his socks, attempting to adjust his shirt. “Don't tell me you've forgotten how to tuck your shirt in Miya.”

Miya scowled at him. “Shaddup, I'm just fixin' it.” 

“If you say so.”

Another scowl before his attention shifted towards what Kiyoomi was wearing, pausing what he was initially doing mid struggle. “That kinda suits ya.” 

But, Kiyoomi wasn't listening, his focus stuck entirely on how misshapen Miya's shirt was. It was almost as if he’d haphazardly stuffed it in probably out of habit. 

“Here,” Kiyoomi walked up to him, unsure of what he was about to do, unsure about why exactly he was about to do it. Miya stilled under his touch as his hand found itself on his elbow. “Let me.”

Maybe, it was out of pity–  _ it wasn't, he knew it wasn't–  _ or maybe, it was just to level the playing field–  _ that's just an excuse, isn't it? _ – either way, Kiyoomi guided his hand along his back, making Miya face him.

“What're y- ?” The question seemed to die in his throat as Kiyoomi's fingers skimmed the waistline of his trousers before gripping the shirt on either side and gently tugging it upwards. He shifted his hands to the side and which he did by pressing it downwards with the flat of his hand, the feeling of Miya's abs hard against his palm with the material of the shirt that was between them doing nothing to mask it. 

_ Oh fuck.  _

Someone cleared their throat and in the blink of an eye, they sprang apart. Kiyoomi turned his head away, grateful for the mask that covered half of his face. Why the fuck did he just do what he did? 

“I've picked out four suits each,” the attendant hastily informed them, placing the suits onto the sofa in two separate piles. Kiyoomi watched their reflection in the mirror, noticing the way they seemed to avoid making eye contact out of embarrassment of having walked in on them. “Please let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thank you,” Miya called out after them as they left, practically dashing out as fast as they could. Kiyoomi wished he could do the same but he couldn't so he did the next best thing: picking up the suits set out for him and disappearing back into his stall before Miya could call him out on it. 

The next suit was black, the buttons of the double-breasted blazer done up all the way up to his chest. It was… nice. He liked the way it made him feel almost like a commander in the ranks of the Dark Side under Darth Vader. A part of him wanted to wear his gloves back on again, if only for the mere reason that they would complete the look. 

He was the first one out this time and he took advantage of it, admiring the sharpness of the suit and the way it fit against him. This was a good one, better than the gold. Perhaps, if the gold was darker he would be considering that one instead. There was a click of a lock being disengaged behind him as Miya stepped out in a blood-red suit with a thin black belt around his torso. He was fixing the cuffs of his sleeves as he joined Kiyoomi, standing by his side. 

Kiyoomi remembered the deep red jacket Inarizaki had. Not only did that color fit Miya, in a way of speaking, but it had also become one which Kiyoomi subconsciously associated with him. Kiyoomi’s gaze however lingered at the belt. He knew Miya’s waist was rather small as compared to the broadness of his shoulders but having the difference accentuated like that was another thing entirely. He looked away before Miya could notice what it was that had caught his attention, even though he was sure he had already noticed since apparently nothing seemed to escape him. 

“It looks good on you,” he said, fixing his collar for the need to do something as he continued to look at Miya out of the corner of his eye. “Red’s your color.” 

Miya raised an eyebrow, meeting his gaze. “Ya look like an evil prince.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s hot.” 

Kiyoomi swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat. Miya’s gaze felt heavy on him, so very heavy. 

_ You could never figure him out.  _

(Shut up, Komori.) 

The next one was rather colorful: black with what looked like a print of a Dahlia in shades of red and white, making it look like it was blooming along the cloth as it spread out on the coat and even the legs of the pants. It even had a matching black shirt, the print of which aligned with the gap between the lapels. It was dignified and elegant with its slim fit, the colors not being too bright instead fitting together perfectly, smart but not loud or distracting. Kiyoomi thought it was beautiful. 

Miya was carding a hand through his hair when Kiyoomi finally stepped out. Their eyes met once in the mirror before moving on to assess what the other was wearing. Miya’s suit was white which seemed to make his hair shine even more, almost like it was spun cornsilk, but that wasn’t what made Kiyoomi’s brain momentarily stop functioning. It was the realization that Miya’s suit also sported a print of Dahlia in the same shades of red and white that was identically spread out along his blazer and the legs of his pants with a matching white shirt, the print of which aligned with the gap between the lapels. It was the realization that the suits they were wearing matched. They were wearing matching suits. White and black with the same pattern. Miya with his wide smiles and his lame puns and the way he drew attention to himself when he walked into a room in white while Kiyoomi with his anxiety-driven mood swings and petty spiteful streaks and blunt remarks in black. 

Miya seemed at a loss for words too, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide, hand aimlessly paused midway as if his brain had short-circuited and he’d ultimately shut down. Kiyoomi supposed that it should have been of some solace to him, to see Miya react this way, that he wasn’t the only one affected by whatever it was that was present in the air that charged itself in their absence while they had locked themselves up, unknowingly creating their own downfalls. 

Kiyoomi locked himself back up again. 

The fourth suit involved another crisp white shirt, this one however hung loose on his frame. The jacket was black with blood-red on the inside, a stark contrast that seemed to show itself with Kiyoomi’s every movement. It almost felt as if it merely rested on his shoulders as it floated about him, giving him the impression of wearing a cape. It was bold, Kiyoomi thought, but he wasn’t sure whether he liked it very much. He was once again the first one out, as he watched himself in the mirror. It was an interesting fit, that was for sure. Maybe, something Count Dracula would’ve worn if he was still alive. 

“It’s missin’ somethin’,” Miya spoke up from behind him as Kiyoomi whirled around to face him. 

“Don’t do that.” 

Miya snorted, “Like yer one to talk. No way ya couldn’t’ve missed me in the mirror.” 

Baby pink with grey pinstripes and silver flowers. Kiyoomi had merely managed to register that when Miya stepped forward, eyes asking for permission, for what Kiyoomi didn’t know but he inclined his head and gave it to him anyway. Why? Kiyoomi didn’t know that either. 

Miya’s hands reached up to his collar, fingers deftly sliding under it as he unbuttoned it. Hands went lower and unbuttoned the next one too, and then the next, and the next until he seemed pleased with himself. He stepped back, regarding Kiyoomi with a contented smile on his face. He was still close, closer than Kiyoomi would’ve liked. He could see the way Miya’s cheeks were dusted a shade of pink that nearly matched his suit. 

“Perfect,” Miya declared, voice breathy. 

Kiyoomi took that as a cue to finally look at himself in the mirror. He could feel the tips of his ears turn red as his face heated up. His chest was very suggestively on display with a rather gracious view of his collarbones. Kiyoomi wished he was imagining things and that his blush wasn’t starting to make its way down his neck. 

“Miya,” he got out, mentally applauding himself for keeping his voice steady and indifferent. “We’re meeting up with my parents.” 

Miya had the audacity to blush. “I know, I was just- y’know” _ – _ frivolous hand gestures _ – _ “spicin’ it up.” 

“Right.” 

_ You still can’t, can you? _

(Shut. Up.)

The last one was dual-colored, grey and black, something he would have picked if he was out and about in London. It would’ve looked great with a top hat or a cane, probably a monocle. Probably, all three. It looked good on him, Kiyoomi wasn’t going to argue with that, though it still felt bland as compared to the others. 

“Boring,” he muttered out loud. “This one’s boring.”

Kiyoomi sighed. Miya still hadn’t stepped out yet and he already wanted to go back inside and change back into his own clothes. “Miya?”

“A minute!”

“What’s taking you so long?” Kiyoomi complained as he stood in front of his door to wait. 

True to his word, Miya unlocked his door a minute later. “Aw Omi, you were waitin’ fer me?”

Kiyoomi ignored him in favor of examining his outfit. A black suit with roses in tints of grey and pink and red with jagged white lines that made it look like it’d been clawed at to reveal the floral display inside. He’d worn a thin white linen turtleneck under a red shirt, the sort that didn't have the first few buttons, leaving the chest relatively open, which in this case was covered up. 

“Beautiful,” he exhaled. 

“What?” 

“You're buying this,” Kiyoomi stated, daring Miya to challenge him on his decision. 

“I am?” He asked, confusion etched into the lines of his brow. 

“Yes.” 

“'Kay then. What 'bout ya?”

“What about me?”

Miya stared at him as if he was dense. “Which suit?”

“I- I don't know.” It was true though, Kiyoomi had no idea which one he would've picked. If he had to narrow it down though, then it'd be something among the first three he had tried on. But then the second and third one stuck out to him more than the gold one. However, there was the fact that they'd still end up matching if he were to go with the Dahlia print suit. On the other hand, the all-black double-breasted suit was–

“It's either the evil prince one or the flower one, isn't it?”

“...Yes.”

Miya rubbed at his temples as he closed his eyes and began to contemplate. Kiyoomi watched him, the way his eyebrows scrunched up together and the way he tapped on his lower lip, lost in thought. He watched the way his finger ultimately dipped in until he started gnawing on the nail. Kiyoomi shifted at his spot, vaguely uncomfortable with every other second that passed by. What about this required so much thought so as to go as far as damaging one’s nails that they needed and had to take extreme care of as a setter? 

Miya seemed to have noticed Kiyoomi’s increasing discomfort that had decided to settle in beside them and make itself comfortable, for he looked up, his finger momentarily forgotten as realization dawned on him. 

“Oh, sorry,” he muttered, not meeting his eyes. Miya let his hand fall. “Force of habit.” 

Kiyoomi didn’t reply. 

“Anyway,” Miya spoke up, voice forcefully energetic as he grinned, false and barely put together. “Prince suit.”

“Prince suit?”

“Yup, yer gettin’ the prince suit.” 

“Are you sure these two are the only ones that you want?” The attendant asked as she packed away their chosen suits. 

“Yes,” Kiyoomi confirmed, fishing out his wallet as he did. 

“Then that’ll be 367,316 yen.” 

Kiyoomi handed over the family credit card. 

He felt a tug on his elbow as Miya leaned in close to him to hiss in his ear, “Are ya fuckin’ serious? Isn’t this, I don’t know, a bit too much? That’s a shit tonna money even for us and we’re loaded.” 

“Too much? How?” 

Miya stared at him like he couldn’t believe that Kiyoomi’s entire existence wasn’t a lie. “Did you not just hear how much this cost?” 

“There’s actually a 50% discount on both of your chosen suits,” the attendant supplied as they handed the credit card back. 

That apparently wasn’t the right thing to say because Miya’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “We can get suits from places that wouldn’t cost a quarter of a fortune, y’know.”

Kiyoomi wrinkled his nose at the suggestion while he pocketed his wallet again. “Mother wouldn’t appreciate that.” 

Miya shot a glance at the attendant before turning back to Kiyoomi. Various emotions passed across his face as if he couldn’t decide which one fit best to how he felt. Kiyoomi thought it was rather amusing. Finally, he settled on incredulousness. “I thought ya wanted to spite her.” 

“I do.”

“Then why?” he gestured at the shopping bag the attendant had given Kiyoomi with their suits in it. 

“Personal preference,” Kiyoomi replied, nodding at the assistant as they turned to leave. 

“Personal preference?” Miya echoed, voice breaking off into a laugh at the end. “What’re ya? A rich kid?”

Kiyoomi’s hand twitched; being called that, had always left a bad taste in his mouth. “If you want to call it that then, yes, Miya, my family’s very wealthy.” 

Miya didn’t respond for a while, reaching out to press the button to call the lift. If Kiyoomi didn’t know any better he would’ve thought their conversation on the topic had ended, never to be brought back up again. But, Kiyoomi knew Miya and he knew better (from ‘personal experience’ as Suna had so eloquently put), and so he waited until Miya would finally spit out the words coiled around his tongue. 

The elevator dinged announcing its arrival. The doors slid open and Kiyoomi was relieved to find that it was empty. They stepped inside and Miya pressed the level they’d parked their car on before standing beside Kiyoomi. 

“Go ahead, spit it out.”

Miya at least had the grace to look sheepish. “Y’know, this is the stuff yer supposed ta mention about yerself durin’ those lil’ lectures of yers.” 

Kiyoomi peered at him. Miya smiled back. 

“Thought you knew.” 

The doors slid open. 

  
  
  


At half-past noon, they found themselves in the middle of a 7-11 that was on the way back to Miya’s apartment. Suna had called Miya, just as they’d left the parking lot, asking him (re: threatening him through illicit means using the art of blackmail) to buy stuff off a list he had sent. 

“Are you sure he said 10 packs of pocky?” Kiyoomi asked as he inspected the cart. 

“Yea.”

“10 packs of each flavor?”

“You’ve seen the list, Omi.” 

Kiyoomi bit the inside of his lip. He had seen the list, the ‘each’ had been typed in all caps. It was hard not to miss it. “Right.” 

“I think we’re done,” Miya announced, putting his phone away after having cross-checked the list for the third time. 

Kiyoomi stood to the side near the exit as he waited for Miya to finish billing the products. With nothing better to do, Kiyoomi found himself scrolling through his social media feed on his phone, barely registering any of it. He occasionally glanced at Miya to see if he had finished. As if he could feel the weight of Kiyoomi’s gaze on his back, Miya turned around to smile at him before mouthing, ‘2 minutes’. Kiyoomi nodded in reply, turning to gaze out of the glass to where his car was parked a good 30 meters away from the store. 

That was when the first flash occurred, a bright white light that occurred at the edge of his line of sight. Kiyoomi whipped his head towards it, eyes searching for the source and unable to spot any. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, he felt like a deer caught in the headlights. 

“Omi?” Miya’s voice came from beside him, calm and soothing. Kiyoomi let out the breath he’d been holding in. “Ya okay?” 

“I’m fine. I probably imagined it.” He turned to Miya and looked down at the three bags he was carrying in his hands, two in his right and one in his left. “Do you need help with that?” 

“Nah, I got it. I’m a professional athlete, this is nothin’.”

Kiyoomi let out an amused huff, shaking his head as they stepped out, the afternoon sun on their backs. 

They had barely taken three steps when the second flash occurred as bright, dazzling and blinding as the first one. Kiyoomi sharply inhaled. He hadn’t imagined it.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  _ His hand instinctively grabbed Miya’s elbow, tugging at his sleeve. “Someone-”

“I know. Don’t look.”

Another flash and Kiyoomi felt his heart stop in his chest before beating again, harder than before the sound of it loud in his ears. His hand lost its grip from Miya’s elbow, falling to his side instead. Next to him, Miya shifted so he held all of the bags in one hand and grabbed Kiyoomi’s hand with the other. He held it loosely at first as if ready to pull away if Kiyoomi were to object but Kiyoomi’s reflexes kicked in and he squeezed Miya’s hand hard. 

Miya squeezed back, the warmth of him bleeding in through the leather of his gloves and branding itself onto Kiyoomi’s skin. Miya rubbed circles with his thumb over and over on the back of Kiyoomi’s hand, the material of his gloves felt too thin, Miya could have been touching skin and Kiyoomi would’ve let him. Gratefulness worms itself into Kiyoomi’s heart, holding it hostage. He no longer cared about the flashes, barely paying them any attention, his focus entirely on the weight of Miya’s hand against his own. His initial sense of panic soothed itself into a numb throb until it was entirely enveloped by the comfort that Miya was the source of. 

He sneaked a glimpse at Miya out of the corner of his eye, even if only for the need to see his profile. Miya’s head was angled to the side so he could sneakily glance behind him, a very imperceptible thing. And that’s when it hit Kiyoomi. 

Miya’s thumb never stopped drawing circles, but the warmth had been snuffed out and all Kiyoomi felt was the frigid coldness of winter blooming in the pit of his gut. 

Miya didn’t care, not really. He was just putting up his end of the bargain, he didn’t actually care. All of this was just an act that made them being a couple seem more believable. Right? That’s all it was. Kiyoomi letting someone hold his hand? Kiyoomi letting someone touch him? Kiyoomi tearing down his boundaries, the massive walls he’d built, just to let someone in? Miya was just returning the favor. 

Kiyoomi thought of the suit he’d bought for him. Was this in response to that? Or did he actually care? No, why was he even debating this? He does not. 

Miya let go of his hand as they neared the car and Kiyoomi fished his car keys out of his pocket and unlocked the trunk of the car. 

Kiyoomi didn’t trust him, he never did. So why was he so bothered? This was what he wanted from him, this was the deal. 

But what was in it for him? Miya couldn’t actually just be paying him back? Merely, doing him a favor for the suit? The vivid memory of words spoken in a locker room not so long ago rose to the forefront of Kiyoomi's mind, breaking through the surface and plastered itself onto the inside of his skull.

_ I just wanted ta rile ya up, piss ya off, put a crack in yer dainty lil’ facade. That’s all there is to it. _

Kiyoomi looked at him then, the form of his back as he lifted the bags to place them in the trunk, the puff of breath he let out when he was finally done, his hair a shade lighter in the glow of the afternoon sun.

_ What's in this for you, Miya? _

And then anger courses through him, colder than anything he'd ever felt before, fueling him, strengthening him. 

Kiyoomi was positive that whoever it was that had been stalking them hadn't moved from their original spot if the sounds of the flash going off lowering in volume while they made their way to the car was anything to go by. He was also positive that they couldn't hear a word that was being said between them, that they could assume that they were conversing since Kiyoomi's mouth was covered by the mask, and Miya's back was to them. 

He took all of it into consideration and more, before stealing himself up to do what he did next. He listened to the way the cold wrapped itself around his heart, wanting to feed it its desires, wanting to quench its thirst, wanting to fuel it up even more so it could let loose and run wild. Miya had told him he looked like an evil prince, then a cold shrewd evil prince he would be. 

“Miya.” 

“Yea?” He turned his head, hand resting on the raised hood he had been about to shut. 

Kiyoomi stepped in closer, putting a gloved finger under his chin, tilting Miya’s head up towards him.

“Wha-?” He breathed out, his cheeks flushed from the sudden proximity. Kiyoomi could see the freckles that dusted across the bridge of his nose, the darkness of his eyelashes, the gold flecks in his contacts. He wondered what color his eyes actually were. A thousand different observations and thoughts ran through his head but none of them involved questioning what he was about to do next. 

Kiyoomi stroked his jaw with his thumb before closing the gap between them, kissing him through the mask.

* * *

_ For Caesar once trusted Brutus too, and look at how well that turned out. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the songs in order of appearance are: kismet by xix, hand crushed by a mallet by 100 gecs, money machine by 100 gecs. 
> 
> atsumu listening to hyperpop is now my most fave hc 
> 
> HI [KAI](https://twitter.com/ddb_dino) DREW [ART FOR THE LAST SCENE OF THIS CHAPTER](https://twitter.com/ddb_dino/status/1304675389336240128?s=20) I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU GO LOOK AT IT !!
> 
> also the suits described are actual alexander mcqueen suits n fuck describing them was such a pain i'll prolly link them up in a thread on twt if anyone's interested in knowing what they actually look like lol  
> edit: ive infact made the [thread](https://twitter.com/inrizaki/status/1296715927187156993)
> 
> also ahhh thank you so much for reading this far i really appreciate it!!!! 
> 
> kudos n comments are really very appreciated they keep me going lol also reading abt what you guys think is instant serotonin so thank you very much i will shut up now <3
> 
> oh uh here's my [twt](https://twitter.com/inrizaki) where i scream abt atsumu n suna 17 times a day n occasionally vague tweet alot abt this fic if you want updates . Now i'll shut up fr


	4. actually chap 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: trippery, food, parents, awkward silences, parents, possible existential crisis, alcohol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> head in hands next time i make a joke abt the wc please yell at me. "hitting 30k would be really cool" what was i thinking . anyway this went way beyond the 13k i joked abt i do not know how that happened either also thank u guys so much for reading this mess like i dont think i'd ever be able to write this much if it wasn't for the amt of feedback ive gotten <3
> 
> also thank u to ppl who put up w my random questions on twt there's a lot of ppl ive to thank for that so uhm yes thank you for being there whenever google fails me mwah 
> 
> ANYWAY some things i felt the need to mention:  
> 1\. i haven't actually read thru the chapter in its entirety i never do n i prolly never will so if there's mistakes or inconsistencies pls point them out or take them w a grain of salt i guess like idk if there's been repeated phrasings this is 15k long so i prolly might've pulled smth  
> 2\. ive never stepped foot into a ritz carlton so yea . keep that in mind lol  
> 3\. IF YOU'VE A SHITTY RELATIONSHIP W YOUR PARENTS THIS IS DEDICATED TO YOU <3 ILY  
> 4\. in case ya missed it kai drew art from the last scene in the prev chapter which u should rlly look at [here](https://twitter.com/ddb_dino/status/1304675389336240128) :D  
> 5\. some parts of this chapter were written while i was listening to megalovania on loop

“You already had a suit,” Komori pointed out as he went through the rack where the formal wear was kept in Kiyoomi’s walk-in closet, his voice sounding hazy and distant to Kiyoomi’s ears but stern nonetheless. “Five suits.”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi sighed, fingers tracing the seams of the grey miniature two-seater couch, his legs dangling over the edge as he rested against the armrest. He tilted his neck up to look at the overhead accent lights that had been installed in the closet. Had they always been this bright? “I suppose I do.”

“That’s all you have to say?” Komori asked, exasperated. He picked something off the rack that looked like a bronze blob hovering in midair the more Kiyoomi squinted at it. “You haven’t even worn this one once.” 

“Hmm… y’know that's 5 seasons ago,” Kiyoomi waved his hand dismissively, tipping his head back over the armrest. The action, however, made his vision swim so he sat up again. “Out of fashion.” 

Komori didn’t look amused as he leaned over Kiyoomi, his body blocking out the light, “You refuse to wear it because she gave it to you.”

“Bingo! Motoya gets 10 points!'' Kiyoomi laughed, his head began to pound, he stopped laughing. “Ouch. Komoriiiiiii, it hurts.” 

“Good,” came the response as his cousin moved out of his line of sight. A moment later and there was the cold press of glass against his lower lip. Wet. Kiyoomi opened his mouth to taste the mystery liquid. Water. Komori tipped the glass, an invitation. He accepted, mouth opening an inch wider. He drank. “You couldn’t hold off for 2 hours. I told you I'd be here as fast as I could. Gosh, Sakusa.” 

“I just drank a little itty bitty bit,” he pouted as Komori dabbed at the stray water droplets that had trailed down his chin. 

“Three glasses of top-shelf whiskey is in no way itty bitty,” Komori replied, sitting back with a sigh from where he’d been crouched on the floor. “Why am I even arguing with you when you’re drunk?” 

Kiyoomi hummed, settling into his seat and closing his eyes. He paid no mind to the way Komori continued to watch him, it made him feel safe. Silence enveloped them like a comforting blanket and Kiyoomi knew all he had to do was give in to it and he’d be asleep, drifting away from the land of consciousness. Maybe, he should give in. 

“Sakusa?” It was spoken tentatively, yet it still managed to pull Kiyoomi back to the shore. He opened his eyes, Komori is all but a hazy dark mass sitting cross-legged in an expanse of white. “What did you do to your dad’s car in our third year of high school?”

“I crashed it into a tree.” It’d been fun. A totaled car with steam rising from it, him standing there with adrenaline coursing through his veins. He had grinned back then, the move had made his cheeks hurt. He was grinning now, it didn’t hurt at all. Other than his head. His head was beginning to throb again. 

“Ah,” Komori let out softly, “I’m a terrible person.” 

“No, you’re not.” 

Kiyoomi reached his hand out towards Komoro to wipe away the guilt that had crept across his face. Komori, however, gently pushed his hand away before taking on a more resolved tone of voice. “Sakusa, what do you think about Atsumu?”

He frowned. What did he think about him? Miya Atsumu was, in plain terms overused by many, a force to be reckoned with. They were alike in more ways than one and that was not something Kiyoomi liked to dwell on. Kiyoomi didn’t like to dwell on a lot of things involving Miya Atsumu. Pushing the man into the recess of his mind and hoping he’d never be able to crawl out into the spotlight again was his go-to way of dealing with him, though what with the turn of recent events that was becoming rather… futile. _What did he think about him?_

“I think he hates me even more now.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Do you hate him?” 

Did he hate him? The answer lay unbidden on the tip of his tongue, another one of those things he would never choose to acknowledge if it weren’t for the loosened tongue and the inebriated state of mind. He hummed again, the waves lapping at him as he found himself being pushed away from the shore yet again. “It'd be easier if I did.”

Komori laughed, a small sad sound that Kiyoomi didn't understand (or maybe he refused to). “No, I don’t think it would've been."

The words echoed around the inside of his heart dragging the one thing that’d been eating Kiyoomi up from the inside until the alcohol drowned it and sunk to the bottom, hopefully never to be revived again. But of course, the hope was short-lived because here it was tumbling out of his mouth into the open, no longer his secret to mull over in moments of self-hatred that'd gotten him to where he currently was in the first place. “He called me Sakusa. He never calls me Sakusa.” 

There was a sharp inhale of breath, but Kiyoomi found that he couldn’t find it in himself to care about the judgment that was about to be passed down to him. He closed his eyes once more, finally allowing himself to be wafted, for consciousness had turned itself into a foreign concept. 

“Kiyoomi, why did you kiss him?”

The voice sounded far away, the words blurring themselves together the deeper Kiyoomi found himself descending into the abyss he had constructed for himself. He had kissed Miya Atsumu. Kiyoomi shivered, the coolness pressing in on him like pinpricks along the expanse of his skin. He had kissed Miya Atsumu out of his own violation. He opened his eyes, air bubbles escaped from his mouth. He was suspended, hand reaching out towards the bright source of light. Was it the sun? He grabbed at it, fingers closing around it, and snuffing it out. It was dark again. He opened his palm. 

There was sand beneath him, he was sitting on the beach. Kiyoomi pushed himself off the ground, almost tripping on his feet as he did. Stars shone in the sky, red and bright before melting away to orange and ultimately dripping gold and caressing his skin. It tasted like Miya. Sure, he didn't exactly know what he tasted like but he knew if he ever did, this — _drops of liquified fireballs, made of the purest of golds mixed with diamonds, melted under the heat of the forge—_ was exactly what Miya would taste like. 

“Why did you kiss me?”

They are words whispered next to his ear, followed by someone’s breath fanning along his neck. Kiyoomi turned his head, attention on the mess of blond hair near his shoulder. He could feel the heat radiating off of him. Their eyes met. Kiyoomi’s throat felt dry as he swallowed, aware of Miya tracking every little movement. His gaze trailed lower; Miya was barechested, skin tanned, and sunkissed. He placed his hand on his waist, fingers spread apart to touch as much expanse of skin as possible. He was warm, the curve of his hip fitting perfectly into his palm. 

Miya cupped his cheek. Kiyoomi didn’t flinch. 

The wind whipped around them as they rose up from the ground, the area turning into soft shades of yellow, purple, and red. Miya’s mouth was slightly parted and inviting, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Kiyoomi considered kissing him, not out of spite or pettiness but because he wanted to. He was attractive, had always been even when his hair was dyed an unflattering shade of mustard when they were teens. His body was sculpted through years of hard work and labor, care going into strengthening every ounce of muscle so he could be at his absolute best on the court they shared. Chiseled abs, thighs carved to perfection, the man himself hewed to sublimity. 

Miya’s fingers tangled themselves in his curls as Kiyoomi found himself leaning towards him, their faces a hair’s breadth apart. Their breaths mingled together, Miya smelled like freshly laundered blankets and the weird combination of his mint shampoo and grapefruit conditioner. It was distinctive, it was Miya. Kiyoomi didn’t flinch. 

“Kiss me, again.” 

Kiyoomi did. 

Again and again and again, until they completely melted into each other, uniting to form one being as the abyss rose up to reclaim them. 

  
  


Kiyoomi woke up to sunlight streaming in from the massive floor to ceiling windows that took up one whole wall of his bedroom. He blinked at the sudden brightness, using his hand to shield his eyes as they adjusted themselves. He stared at the blue sky in confusion, he never moved the curtains unless he was cleaning. A dull throb resounded in his skull as he sat up which made him want to sink back into the mattress again. 

Augh. 

He pushed the covers off of him, shifting himself over to the edge and letting his feet sink into the rug. He stood up, stretching as he did before walking over to the ottoman in the corner and picked his robe up. He had no recollection of laying it out on it though there was only one person he knew who would’ve. He shrugged the robe on, making a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up before loosely tying the knot and stepping out of the room. 

As suspected, Komori Motoya was in the kitchen, back to Kiyoomi, busy sautéing something in a pan over the stove. He turned his head to smile at Kiyoomi as he sat onto the barstool. 

“G’ morning!” He waved the spatula at Kiyoomi before turning the stove off. He slid the contents of the pan onto a plate that he’d set on the island counter. Komori didn’t even have to glance at him to know the question he had on his mind. “Yes, I wiped everything down while you were knocked out.” 

Kiyoomi leans forward on the counter, letting his elbows carry the weight of him. He was so tired. He watched Komori place the pan into the sink before grabbing a glass and filling it up for him. He rummaged through the cupboards for a bit until he found what he was looking for. A moment later, Komori slid the glass of water along with the sheet of aspirin. 

Kiyoomi used the edge of his thumbnail to cut one of the capsule coverings open and let the pill fall into the palm of his hand. He stared at it for a while in distaste, his other hand tightening its grip on the glass. He took a sip, filling his mouth with water and letting it swirl around his tongue for a bit before tipping his head back and pushing the tablet in through his lips and swallowing it down. He drained the rest of the glass next, anything to wash away the taste of the medicine that’d still manage to taint his tongue. 

“How’re you feeling?” Komori asked, taking the glass away from him.

“Like shit.” 

“Well can't really blame the alcohol on that one when you'd be feeling it either way.” 

Kiyoomi scowled at his cousin, without any actual heat because he knew he was right. He leaned forward with a groan and rested his head on his arms. Komori busied himself up again with the cooking, the sound of it soothing enough to nearly lull him back to sleep. He raised his head, chin digging into the back of his palm. “Komori... Where’s my phone?”

Komori stilled, hand suspended in midair where it’d been in the process of garnishing. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m going to have to see it at some point.” 

“But not in the headspace you’re in right now, you don’t.”

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes at him, sitting up so he could hold his palm out. Komori stared him down before relenting with a sigh as he pulled the affronted object out of his pocket. “I don't think this is a good idea,” he admitted, walking back to Kiyoomi. He leaned forward, resting his elbows against the countertop so that they were face to face. “Are you sure?”

Kiyoomi pinched at his brows, his other hand still extended, palm up. “Hand it over, Komori.” 

With another sigh and downcast eyes, Komori did as he was told.

The phone was switched off, the screen cold against his fingertips. Kiyoomi pressed down on the power button until the screen lit up at maximum brightness causing him to squint at it. He genuinely hated it when it did that. When it finally came to life, there was a downpour of notifications from every direction in the plane of social media, the phone continuing to vibrate in his hand until he came to his senses and set it to ‘Do Not Disturb’. 

With his features settled into a grimace, he pulled down the notification bar, bracing himself. There were several text messages, a concerning amount of social media mentions, and various missed calls. He scanned through the names and handles. None of them are Miya. Kiyoomi wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. Was it disappointment that made his stomach lurch the way it just had? No, that was ridiculous. 

He opened his messages, clicking on the first person on top of his inbox. 

**[07:02 PM] Hinata :** Sakusa-san I didn’t know you and Atsumu-san finally got together??? Congratulations!!! 

Kiyoomi stared at the message on his screen, reading it over once, twice, thrice. The words didn’t change. His scowl deepened. 

_The fuck did Hinata mean_ ‘finally’ _?_

He switched over to Twitter. His timeline refreshed itself and there at the top was Bokuto’s latest tweet. 

> **Brokuto K.** @bkoutarou
> 
> neither of you are picking up your phones so HEY HEY HEY @miyatsumu @skiyoomi CONGRATULATIONS MY DUDES ABOUT TIME

_About time? About. Time. ABOUT TIME?_

And as if the universe hadn’t shit on him enough, right there below it was none other than Ushijima Wakatoshi.

> **Ushijima Wakatoshi** @ushijimaJPN 
> 
> I’d like to congratulate my good friend @skiyoomi and his teammate @miyatsumu. I hope you’re both very happy together.

“If you’re thinking about deactivating,” Komori piped up, “Don’t.” 

Kiyoomi groaned, his phone slipping from his grasp, and the next thing he knew he was staring at the Twitter explore page. Said explore page having #SAKUATSU at the top of the trends list with a Twitter moment attached to it put together specifically by Twitter. The cover picture was — _oh, of fucking course it was_ — none other than the captured moment of their kiss, suspended in time as they’d been in that moment. 

He glanced at the headlines as he scrolled through, all of them variations of the exact same sentence. 

> **_V. League Div. 1 MSBY players Miya Atsumu (S) and Sakusa Kiyoomi (OH) have finally decided to let the public in on their previously well-hidden relationship._ **

The wording made Kiyoomi grip at his scalp, fingers threading through the curls. He could feel Komori hovering nearby, ready to step in and take the phone away from him if needed. Kiyoomi was surprised he hadn’t already snatched it from his hands by now. He’d actually be grateful. It’d certainly beat having to see that one picture plastered in every single tweet. The angle of the camera hid their faces from view, not that it would have mattered when the image of the deep red blush that had spread across Miya’s face as they had locked eyes, either of them refusing to look away, was imprinted behind his eyelids. 

The other pictures had been circulating around too; them holding hands as they walked to the car. Kiyoomi stared at the point of contact, going so far as to zoom in on it. With the way Miya had tilted their hands, something Kiyoomi hadn’t paid attention to back then, one couldn’t make out that Miya had in fact been attempting to soothe him. 

_Oh._

There were other pictures of them making the rounds, ones where they were still in high school: the photoshoot they’d done for Volleyball Monthly, when they’d been on the Japan U-19 team together with their jersey numbers 13 and 15, and when they stood on the other side of the net at nationals. Kiyoomi didn’t have to read the captions to know what they were speculating. 

With swift taps on the screen, he switched back to his message inbox; choosing to deal with the problem at hand the usual way he dealt with anything Miya Atsumu, that is, by not dwelling on it. 

He scanned through the names until he came across a familiar one, one that he wasn’t really expecting to see: Iizuna, his former captain. Kiyoomi grimaced at the preview, yet another congratulatory message which was better off left unread than seen zoned. 

Another glance through the inbox for something, anything that wasn’t a wrongly placed well-intended heartfelt good wishes. And there it was, towards the bottom before his inbox had begun to flood, messages from an unknown number. Nine unread messages read the counter badge. Kiyoomi clicked on it. 

**[Yesterday, 04:35 PM] Unknown :** yo its suna komori gave me your number

 **[Yesterday, 04:35 PM] Unknown :** hope thats ok 

Oh. Kiyoomi saved his number onto his phone before continuing. 

**[Yesterday, 04:35 PM] Suna :** yo it’s suna komori gave me your number

 **[Yesterday, 04:35 PM] Suna :** hope thats ok 

**[Yesterday, 04:35 PM] Suna :** n i hope ure doing ok 

**[Yesterday, 04:36 PM] Suna :** ik u prolly don’t wanna talk abt it but if u want i can listen

 **[Yesterday, 04:36 PM] Suna :** i may not be komori but i can bitch w u ;)

 **[Yesterday, 04:37 PM] Suna :** if that’s like ok w u ofc 

**[Yesterday, 04:37 PM] Suna :** ^ reads as of course n not of fucking course

 **[Yesterday, 04:38 PM] Suna :** gosh i don’t blame u if u don’t now lol 

**[Yesterday, 04:39 PM] Suna :** so yea

Huh. Kiyoomi stared at the screen for a while, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure of how he should reply. He was curious, yes… but did he actually want to know how Miya was dealing with this? It wasn’t like how Miya was dealing with this was personally going to affect him in any way and he certainly didn’t care about Miya beyond volleyball for him to start wondering about his well-being right now. He was curious. That’s all. 

He typed and retyped until he finally settled on a response and pressed send.

I’m okay. **: You [07:03 AM]**

And I'd appreciate that. **: You [07:03 AM]**

It was almost as if Suna had been waiting for him to text back, the blue text bubble that indicated that the other person was typing, popping up almost instantly. 

**[07:03 AM] Suna :** oh ure finally up 

**[07:04 AM] Suna :** howre u feeling

Raging headache. It'll pass. **: You [07:04 AM]**

 **[07:05 AM] Suna :** damn are u sure looking at ur phone is a good idea

No. **: You [07:05 AM]**

 **[07:05 AM] Suna :** hahaha 

Suna was typing again, the bubble popping up and disappearing before coming back up. Whatever it was, Suna seemed to be taking his time with it whether it was out of uncertainty or the message was that long, Kiyoomi could only guess. He didn’t switch tabs, patiently waiting instead and it wasn’t like he had anything else to switch too without it adding on to his headache. 

**[07:07 AM] Suna :** so uhm kinda assuming you want an update on yknow 

Curiosity, Kiyoomi told himself, that was all it was. 

Did he say something? **: You [07:08 AM]**

 **[07:08 AM] Suna :** no he brushed us off n stormed into his room 

**[07:09 AM] Suna :** man hasn’t stepped out since

Oh. **: You [07:09 AM]**

 **[07:09 AM] Suna :** yeah :/

 **[07:10 AM] Suna :** also i think u should rest ur eyes

 **[07:10 AM] Suna :** stop typing i see you typing 

**[07:11 AM] Suna :** stop n put ur phone down 

**[07:11 AM] Suna :** good now put the phone down 

Despite himself, Kiyoomi’s lips quirked up as he complied and put the phone down. “Hmph.”

“Didn’t think you’d find anything amusing,” Komori noted, pushing a plate of breakfast in front of him; scrambled eggs with buttered toast. 

“I was texting Suna.” 

Komori raised his eyebrows but didn't say anything, content with watching Kiyoomi more or less devour his food. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he ate the first bite and on that note, he realized that he couldn’t seem to remember when was the last time he’d eaten. And then came in the third startling realization that it was really fucking stupid of him to have been drinking on an empty stomach or to have even been drinking in the first place. Guess he deserved the headache. 

“You don’t deserve your headache,” Komori tutted, gently hitting him on the head. 

Kiyoomi looked up at him, his eyes widening a bit because he was pretty sure he didn't speak up or say anything out loud. He was very sure about that-

“You didn’t speak. I just took a wild and,” he gave him a knowing look, “very accurate guess on where your thoughts would lead you to.” 

Of course, he did. Doctor Komori Motoya, Ph.D. in reading Sakusa Kiyoomi like an open book. 

“C’mon Sakusa, I've known you for like 20 years. Give me more credit than that.”

Kiyoomi wasn’t sure how he felt about being told that he was that transparent and readable, even if it was implied. While Komori did know him like the back of his hand, the same way Kiyoomi knew him, which made sense for him to be able to read through Kiyoomi the way he did. But, there was also the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one capable of doing so, there were 3 other people who were more than capable of doing the same.

“Hey,” Komori said, reaching out for his hand to take the fork from it and putting it down. “Just because they can see through you and make assumptions about you, doesn’t mean they understand you or your reasonings behind them.” 

Kiyoomi stared at him, dark green eyes meeting blue and he hoped that he could get the message across of how grateful he was for Komori, for everything he’d ever done for him since the dawn of time, without having to say it aloud. He knew Komori got the message —because he was Komori after all— when he smiled at him, gaze softening as he did. “Now eat up. It'll get cold and soggy.”

When he finally finished eating, Komori cleared the plate away for him despite his protests that he was perfectly capable of doing it himself. 

“Do you want to continue watching Hannibal?” Komori asked as he wiped his hands on the kitchen towel. “It’s broad daylight.”

Kiyoomi stared at him, trying to comprehend what was being asked. Wasn’t the usual process when it came to things like this along the lines of questioning, analyzing, and then working out a plan while probably hitting a nail or ten on Kiyoomi’s head. “You’re not going to-?”

“Ask?” Komori cut him off, kind and patient. “No. Well, I’ve questions and I am curious... But I also think you’ve punished yourself enough.” 

“...Punished.” Kiyoomi mouthed, tasting the way the word felt heavy on his tongue. 

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Komori reassured. “Unless you do want to?” 

“No, not really no.” Kiyoomi shook his head, his curls flopping around as he did. 

Komori grinned at him with a warmth that rivaled the sun. “Hannibal it is then.” 

* * *

Practice kicked off again on Monday. The dinner was on Friday. Miya hadn’t reached out to him since yesterday.

  
  


He had spent hours staring at their messages, hoping to see the bubble pop up but it never did. More than once, he’d click on the contact info, expanding the picture that had been set for it, something that Miya himself had taken the liberty of doing when he’d typed in his number into Kiyoomi’s phone. It was a selfie, blurred a little because Kiyoomi had tried to snatch his phone back when he took it. There was mischief in his eyes, feral in the way he was making their team’s signature claw sign, in the way he’d bared his teeth like fangs and the way he stuck his tongue out. He was always sticking his tongue out, Kiyoomi noted. 

Miya had snapped a picture of Kiyoomi right after when they’d finally exchanged their phones back. _It’s not complete without a picture Omi-Omi,_ he had said. Kiyoomi had never seen how the picture had come out. All he knew was that Miya had been satisfied with it. 

Kiyoomi was curled up against the corner of his sofa, blanket tucked over his legs as he held his phone inches away from his face. Komori had left a while ago after Kiyoomi had assured him multiple times that he’d be okay and that he would stay 5 feet away from the liquor cabinet. Now, he was starting to wish he’d stayed however selfish that would’ve been. 

He knew he could be the one to text first, that he could initiate the conversation, that there was a possibility, no matter how meek, that Miya Atsumu was also staring at his phone expecting him, waiting for him to reach out. But then the last line of their conversation stared back at him, guilt threatening to overtake him yet again, to drag him down into its murky depths. 

I’m outside. Where are you? **: You [Yesterday, 08:34 AM]**

Kiyoomi locked the screen, letting his phone slip from his hand. The last thing Miya would want was to have anything to do with him and the least Kiyoomi could do was respect that. 

So here Kiyoomi was miserable and lonely alone on a Sunday evening, _‘thanks a lot fer today, Sakusa’_ running through his head on loop, the only thing keeping him company in the otherwise oppressive silence. 

A sigh, he might as well get it over with. If anything, it’d be better than the quiet. “Alexa play ‘ _To finish: Miya_ ’ on Spotify.” 

“Playing the ‘ _To finish: Miya_ ’ from your private playlists on Spotify.”

Kiyoomi found that trying to force himself to sit through Kismet proved a much better distraction, even if he did want to claw at his eardrums because of it. 

It was better than the quiet. 

  
  


He was waiting for him when Kiyoomi rolled into the parking lot. Duffle bag hanging over one shoulder, hair tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed, shirt partially tucked into his sweats, arms bare despite the cold, leather jacket tucked over them where they’d been crossed over his chest, attention trained on Kiyoomi’s car as he pulled up in front of him. 

There was eye contact. Kiyoomi staring in utter confusion still behind the steering wheel, Miya with his contemplative glare and arms crossed over his chest, the windshield the only thing between them. It broke as Kiyoomi looked away, unable to stand the unreadable expression on the other’s face, unable to question why it bothered him as much as it did. 

He turned the key, cutting off the ignition, and grabbed his duffle bag from the passenger seat before opening the door and stepping out. The door slammed shut with a little push, followed by a beep of confirmation as the locking mechanism clicked in as Kiyoomi pressed the button, pocketing the keys away into his sweatpants. He’d put them in a safer place when he got to the locker room where hopefully Miya would no longer be trying to pry into his psyche with his gaze alone. 

A quick look around, that Kiyoomi hoped wasn’t noticeable, and Miya’s flashy car was nowhere to be seen. As expected, however, his twin’s sleek matte black chrome finished Ducati Diavel was parked in the corner reserved for bikes. 

When he finally turned to face Miya, it was like his earlier expression had never existed in the first place, that it was just a figment of his imagination. The gaze trained on him was no longer prying, it was replaced by something much sharper and challenging. Kiyoomi squinted at him, lips pursed behind his mask in distrust. 

Miya smiled, equally distrustful. “Hey babe, I was waitin’ for ya.” 

_‘...Babe?’_ Kiyoomi mouthed. The word repeated itself over and over in his head while all he could do was stare at Miya, eyes wide and unreservedly shell shocked.

Miya raised an eyebrow at him. “What? Wouldja rather I kiss ya good mornin’?”

“No,” Kiyoomi replied, a little too quickly, a little too hastily. 

“That’s what I thought,” Miya mumbled, narrowing his eyes before switching back to the grin in an instant as he hoisted his duffle bag higher over his shoulder while shifting the leather jacket away to rest on the curve of his free arm. “Let's get goin’, sweetheart. We’re gonna be late.”

The rest of the day went by in a similar fashion. Miya hovered around while Kiyoomi did his best to not flinch away. _It’s for appearances_ , he told himself when Miya stood closer than he normally would’ve let him. _It’s for appearances_ , he told himself when Miya stuck to his side even during breaks. _It’s for appearances_ , he told himself when he offered his hand out to Miya to help him up from where he’d been sitting on the floor. _It’s for appearances_ , he wanted to scream at Miya when he stared at the hand, a question in his eyes when he glanced up at him that Kiyoomi refused to acknowledge. 

_It’s for appearances, isn’t that what you’ve been doing?_ Kiyoomi asked instead. 

He got his answer, transmitted to him through the grip of Miya’s hand on his own. Sweaty, warm, and surprisingly soft. A setter’s hand, Miya’s hand. Kiyoomi tried not to flinch. Even as Miya nearly stumbled into him as he got to his feet, he tried not to flinch. 

“Sorry,” Miya whispered before stepping away. 

_No, you’re not._

They headed towards the locker room, Miya walking in front. Kiyoomi could feel the gaze of their teammates trained onto their backs, he could hear the quiet whispers of questions thrown around about them, ones which they could only speculate about, ones that even Kiyoomi couldn’t answer if he tried. He wondered what they looked like to them. Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi. 

  
  


It was Tuesday when Bokuto and Hinata saddled up to Miya. Subtlety had never been their strong suit and neither was minding their own business. An attempt was being made though, Kiyoomi mused as he observed them from the corner of his eye. They weren’t loud about it which unfortunately was what gave away their intentions. Miya, for his part, seemed to be dodging the questions barreled his way. There’s nervous laughter, hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck, and an unsuccessful attempt at changing the topic. Hinata had always been persistent and nosy, it was going to take more than that to throw him off. 

Kiyoomi’s focus fell a little lower, trained on Miya’s free hand. It was easy to miss, to glaze over, to think nothing of it, to think that all Miya was doing was itching at a spot along his finger and not tearing at his skin with the edge of his fingernail. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure what to make of it. Miya took care of his hands as was evident enough, Miya knew how important his hands were to him, certainly, he knew better than to attempt to damage them (no matter how insignificant the damage), and yet here he was. 

He frowned as he looked away only to find Miya staring right back at him, expression hard and unreadable but Kiyoomi could guess what was running through his head. Miya shoved his hand into the pocket of his jacket, shielding it from Kiyoomi’s gaze. 

_Why do you care?_

Why did he care? It was selfishness if anything, he’d rather have his setter’s hand perfectly intact and functioning. Miya was good at what he did, one of the best, and Kiyoomi would prefer it stayed that way. 

Bokuto snagged Miya’s attention again and Kiyoomi watched as he laughed something off, no trace of insecurity or anxiety to be seen, buried into his pocket and protected by the various layers that constituted Miya Atsumu himself. 

Meian walked in, having finished his post-practice discussion with Coach Foster. Miya and Bokuto were still deep in conversation to notice him. Hinata, on the other hand, balked a little especially as Meian sent a glare in his direction. A sheepish apologetic smile was thrown back at the captain and then he was dragging Bokuto away with some excuse or the other. 

It’s fifteen minutes later after Meian finished his rundown of what needed to be worked on in the next practice, when Miya plopped himself down on the bench, sliding his legs over it so he could face Kiyoomi. 

“Need some help darlin’?”

Kiyoomi’s shoulders tensed up before relaxing when he realized that it was just Miya. That didn’t stop him from dropping his duffle bag onto Miya’s lap in hopes of giving him something to do, something else to focus on and not linger on Kiyoomi’s little slip-up. “Hold that for me.” 

It seemed to work. Miya glanced down at the bag, visibly surprised but he held on to it nonetheless. 

“You just showered,” Kiyoomi supplied as he held the folded up clothes. He placed them inside the duffle bag while Miya made sure to hold the opening of it far apart so Kiyoomi’s knuckles wouldn’t get scraped by the zipper on the sides. 

“Oh.” 

Kiyoomi put his shower gel in next. “I, uh, finished listening to the songs you played in the car.” 

“Ya did?” His voice was soft, his eyes searching Kiyoomi’s. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure why he admitted that himself, he also wasn’t sure if Miya was going to find whatever he was looking for but he let him search anyway as he allowed himself to meet his gaze. “For real? I thought ya hated them.”

“I do.”

“Then... why?”

Kiyoomi turned away, once again busying himself in his locker. “Consider it a me thing.” 

“A you thing,” Miya repeated.

“It’s...,” Kiyoomi started as he turned around, the waterproof bag which contained his towel in hand. Miya was watching him expectantly, patient, his fingers idly tugging at the zip. “Komori said I have a thing. I just don’t like leaving things unfinished.” 

Miya nodded, ducking his head down in thought. “You’ve played Undertale, right? I remember ya posted about it.”—a beat of silence—“Before.”—followed by another—“Once.” 

Kiyoomi could only stare at the figure before him, head still ducked, fingers picking at a loose thread. He finally looked up and Kiyoomi let out the breath he’d been holding in, a slow exhale as the inklings of an unnamed emotion threatened to take root inside of him. “I have, yes.” 

“What was yer gameplay time?” 

“3.5 hours the first time. 4 hours on an average,” he replied, lips curved into a smug smirk as Miya’s eyes went wide. 

“You’ve played every route?” 

“Of course I have.”

 _This_ Kiyoomi allowed himself to think as the conversation between them continued, shifting to strategies and other games they had played and the anecdotes that came with them in the form of Komori Motoya and Miya Osamu. _This was comfortable._

Wednesday. Lunch break, a two-hour long ordeal that was nearing its end along with Kiyoomi’s patience. 

“Remove your hand,” he hissed at Miya as he forcefully twisted the top of his water bottle off.

“I ain’t even touchin’ ya!” Miya pointed out. He had rolled the sleeves of his practice t-shirt all the way up, revealing his biceps. He held his water bottle in one hand, while the other one was hovering over Kiyoomi’s ass, pretending to grip it because gripping your partner’s buttock in public was apparently a ‘thing couples tended to do’ and ‘it doesn’t not get any more official than that Omi’. Kiyoomi was very well aware that it was a thing. What he wasn’t aware of, however, was why Miya felt the need to ‘replicate’ it in any way or form. “It just looks like I am from a distance. An optical illusion, y’know.”

“It’s annoying and pointless,” Kiyoomi replied, putting his bottle under the water dispenser and pushing the button for it to be filled. “Plus, anyone can tell you’re faking it.” 

“No, they can’t,” Miya argued, handing his bottle over to Kiyoomi while taking the cap of Kiyoomi’s bottle from him. 

“Yes, they can,” Kiyoomi muttered, uncapping Miya’s water bottle too with a twist of his wrist. It was one of those where the top of it was attached to the body so he let it dangle. “It’s hovering, not gripping.” 

“That’s the point!” Miya exclaimed, handing Kiyoomi the cap for his water bottle back as he switched out his bottle with Miya’s. “It’s an illusion.” 

“And it is an annoying one.” Kiyoomi screwed the cap back on and handed the bottle to Miya. 

“In my opinion, it’s smart.” 

Kiyoomi blamed it on his patience finally running out, he also blamed it on how tired he was and how he didn’t want to continue arguing when there was one sure way of getting Miya to shut up while proving his point. He grabbed Miya’s hand that’d been hovering, the sudden tug making Miya stumble into him so he was against his side. Kiyoomi spread his hand over Miya’s, covering it with his as he placed Miya’s palm on his hip. “It’s not the same.” 

There were two thoughts that registered in Kiyoomi’s head. The first being that he was flushed against Miya’s side with his arm around him and his hand on his waist (something that he was completely responsible for). The second one was the fact that Miya Atsumu was warm and sturdy. And then came the third, Miya’s palm was bigger, Kiyoomi’s fingers were longer. 

It lasted three heartbeats. 

There was the sound of something heavy dropping to the floor and then Miya was stepping away, three steps or five, having pulled his hand away from Kiyoomi’s grasp. A random excuse of needing to go to the bathroom was blurted out and he was already off the court. Kiyoomi’s pulse felt loud to his own ears as he stared after him. 

Miya’s bottle had begun to overflow, water dripping onto the floor. The tip of Kiyoomi’s shoe bumped into something as he turned to stop the dispenser. He barely noticed that the water bottle he’d kicked, that was now rolling across the floor, was his own. 

There had been a fourth thought, the realization that he wasn’t disgusted. 

“Oh.” 

  
  


It was Thursday evening when Miya walked up to him, already packed up and ready to leave. 

Practice was officially done for the day, an extensively gruesome session that had taken quite a toll on everyone involved. Kiyoomi didn’t think he had it in him to stand any longer, wishing he could just get home and collapse onto his bed never to move again. Even Hinata and Bokuto were subdued despite their boundless pit of energy. Coach Foster’s new training regime had managed to suck the life out of every being in the room except one. Miya Atsumu remained unaffected, having showered and gathered up his things at a pace incomprehensible to even Kiyoomi and Kiyoomi was always the first one to leave. 

And here Miya stood behind him with his hands in his pockets, invading Kiyoomi’s personal space and Kiyoomi, despite being hyper-aware of their teammates' not-very-subtle attempt of eavesdropping on them, let him. 

“I’m comin’ over tonight,” Miya whispered, inches away from Kiyoomi’s ear. He could feel his breath grazing the side of his neck and then he was leaning forward so he could speak directly into his ear. He was so close. Kiyoomi could just lean back, allow his legs to give out and he’d catch him because he wouldn’t have any choice but to. But Miya spoke and every thought Kiyoomi had of being lethargic was replaced by white noise. “I’m gonna kiss yer cheek now.” 

Miya brushed his lips against his skin and Kiyoomi felt as if his nerve endings had been lit alight as warmth spread through him from the point of contact. The pressure was nonexistent at first, a barely-there fleeting touch as though Miya was testing his boundaries. Kiyoomi didn’t flinch, couldn’t even if he wanted to. It helped knowing that Miya had showered ten minutes ago but that thought was overrun by the incoherent scrambling of signals that made up Kiyoomi’s brain. Satisfied, he pressed his lips more firmly to his skin, the gesture soft, gentle, and surprisingly tender that Kiyoomi found himself falling apart at the seams. 

Two heartbeats. 

He pulled away. Verbal goodbyes were spoken to the rest of the team and then he was gone, leaving Kiyoomi to stare unseeingly at the contents of his locker while his fingers tentatively ghosted over the spot where Miya had kissed him. 

  
  


Forgiveness was hard. It tied down to trust. You could forgive someone but you’ll likely never trust them again. You could lie and say that you forgive for no other reason but to avoid conflict but the shards of betrayal embedded into the skin of your back will forever be with you, a weight that you carry from sunrise to sunset and even in dark drenches of sleep. 

Forgiveness was hard. An indulgence perhaps, to be the bigger person and help cleanse the conscience of the one who wound you. Was it worth it? When all you’re left with is the bitter after taste as you watch everyone else move on under the assumption that you have too? 

Forgiveness was hard, reserved for those who truly repented. 

Sakusa Kiyoomi wasn’t one to forgive. Neither was Miya Atsumu. 

  
  


Miya rang his doorbell at quarter past nine. Conversation was kept to a minimum, nothing beyond polite necessities and nods of affirmation, as Miya sat on his preferred bar stool while Kiyoomi got him something to drink. It was awkward really if Kiyoomi was going to be honest. This wasn’t how they worked, this wasn’t how they functioned. 

It made sense though, Kiyoomi thought as he handed Miya his bottle of beer. It was the first time they were together outside of practice, just the two of them in complete privacy. There are things to discuss, to take accountability for, apologize perhaps if Kiyoomi would be able to get the words out but… Kiyoomi didn’t want to be the one to broach the subject and Miya was content with maintaining eye contact as he took a swig of his drink. 

“The dinner’s tomorrow,” Kiyoomi said, choosing to go down the route of stating the obvious instead. 

“It sure is.”

Kiyoomi wanted to throttle him. At least he was attempting to start a conversation, Miya was merrily sipping beer. Kiyoomi let out an exhale as he steeled himself up to try again. “I’ll pick you up around 6:45. Does that sound good to you?” 

“Actually,” Miya began, setting the bottle on the counter and cupping his hands around it as he leaned forward, “I was thinkin’ I’ll be the one to pick ya up. What sorta boyfriend would I be if I didn’t especially for somethin’ like this?” 

There were several things in that statement that stabbed Kiyoomi in his abdomen. 

“Hey, ya don’t have to glare at me like that,” Miya whined. Loud, annoying, and pissy. Normal. “I’ve feelings too ya know and yer hurtin’ them.” 

“If you think I’m ever going to step foot in your car, you’re delusional.” 

Miya sighed, a heavy dramatic thing. “Omi-kun, where do ya think my car’s been?”

Kiyoomi stared at him, eyes narrowing as he turned the question over in his head. How the fuck was he supposed to know where Miya’s car has been? Sure, he noticed that Miya hadn’t exactly been driving around in it recently, using his brother’s Ducati instead but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. They switched pretty frequently, if Kiyoomi were to guess it was always done based on the younger twin’s requests. It was with this in mind that he replied, “It’s with your brother.” 

Miya’s eyebrows scrunched together as he regarded Kiyoomi. “Normally, yes. Not this time.” 

“Fine then, where is it?” 

“I gave it in for cleanin’,” he said matter-of-factly, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest, “and servicin’ but mostly cleanin’. Y’know the deep cleansin’ stuff? That.” 

Kiyoomi found himself rendered speechless. Miya had his gaze trained on the bottle as he worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. Kiyoomi was grateful for it, he wasn’t sure he could stand it if Miya’s attention was on him especially when he wasn’t aware of his own emotions that were surging up inside of him. He’d always known Miya was considerate, yet here it was staring at him in the face and he didn’t know how to respond. There were very few people who had accommodated his needs without it feeling like it was done out of pity, Kiyoomi didn’t know how he felt that Miya Atsumu was now one of those people. 

“It’s okay, y’know. I don’t mind if ya still wanna stick with yer own car.” Quiet and resigned, still refusing to meet his eyes. 

“No,” Kiyoomi exhaled, bracing himself against the counter as he lied. A white lie, Miya would notice but Kiyoomi also knew he would know why. “I was just calculating how long it’d take to reach there.” 

“Oh?” He asked with a raise of an eyebrow. “How long’s it gonna take then?” 

“Pick me up at 6:30.” 

Miya smiled, running his tongue over the canine. “As ya command.” 

They lapsed into silence, amiable instead of the foreign it was before. Miya took another sip of his drink as Kiyoomi glanced at the clock. It was late, around the time that Kiyoomi would begin to prep his dinner. He didn’t know how long Miya planned on staying, but he knew it would be rude of him to not ask before getting around to cook. Kiyoomi eyed Miya, taking in the way he’d made himself comfortable and certainly didn’t look like he was going to be moving anytime soon. 

“Should I be cooking for you too?” 

Another eyebrow raise. “Ya don’t mind?” 

“As long as you keep your expectations low.” 

Miya seemed to be mulling it over in his head as he took another sip. A grin broke out on his face as he came to a decision. “Go on. Flatter my tastebuds, Omi.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t deign him with a response, turning his back to him as he walked over to where his apron was hanging and put it on. 

15 minutes later, Miya was setting the table as Kiyoomi carried their food. Kiyoomi set the bowls down as Miya stood on the other side, pouring out water into the glasses. It’s quiet except for the clink of utensils, domestic even like they’d done this a hundred times before. 

“You know,” Kiyoomi said softly, fingers trailing along the edge of the placemat, “I didn’t expect this to escalate when I first asked you.” 

A harsh chuckle from Miya caused Kiyoomi’s head to snap upwards to look at him. “Sure ya didn’t.”

Miya held his gaze and Kiyoomi noticed the exact moment he found whatever it was he was searching for in Kiyoomi’s expression. “Oh, yer serious.” 

Kiyoomi didn’t reply. He deserved that, maybe. 

They took their seats, opposite to the other. ‘ _Itadakimasu_ ,’ was spoken in unison as they dug into the hastily made ramen. 

The sounds of cutlery against ceramic filled the air as they ate. He didn’t ask Miya about his opinion on the ramen, Miya didn’t offer his criticism either. Kiyoomi wondered whether he should apologize, whether Miya expected him to apologize. It wouldn’t be considered good table talk if he were to start apologizing right now, not with Miya slurping his noodles. 

Kiyoomi put his silverware down, having finished his meal. He lifted the serviette he had placed on his lap, to wipe at his mouth before discarding it on top of his now-empty bowl. Miya did the same shortly afterward, draining his glass of water and leaning back against his seat. Neither of them made any effort to move or to start a conversation either for that matter. 

There were words that sat coiled around Kiyoomi’s tongue, refusing to loosen their grip, to tumble out, and be spoken. _I’m sorry for dragging you into this._ But he wasn’t sure whether they were genuine, he wasn’t sure whether he meant it at all, so he swallowed it down and buried it away. 

He could, however, feel the question engraved in the way Miya looked at him now, hooded eyes tracking Kiyoomi’s every move as he tapped his fingers against the tabletop. _Why did you kiss me?_

Kiyoomi didn’t know. He thought about it every day, the question haunting him even in his dreams and he still didn’t know. Spite was ultimately what it boiled down to, but that argument was starting to feel weak to his own ears and he knew that wasn’t an answer that Miya wanted to hear. 

Miya tilted his head, tongue darting out to wet his lips. There’s a new equally loaded question, probably more, uncovered from where it’d been hidden. _Do you regret it yet?_

To this, the answer is clear and solid, regardless of the hours he’d spent thinking over it Kiyoomi’s answer never changed. _No._

Kiyoomi traced the rim of his glass with his finger. _Do you?_

Miya looked away then, deep in thought as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. Kiyoomi watched him now; the slight tension in his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, and the curve of his neck. He watched him tug on the sleeves of his sweater and then brown eyes were meeting his, holding his gaze. There was an answer written there, tinged bittersweet for Kiyoomi to decode, for Kiyoomi to keep. 

_I should really, but I don’t._

  
  


Friday. Dinner was in five and a half hours. Practice ended early on Fridays, 2:15 PM on the dot and they were usually out of the doors by 2:45 PM, like now. Miya was walking in front of Kiyoomi, heading towards his bike. Hinata and Bokuto were behind them, animatedly discussing the latest Netflix release. 

Kiyoomi was the one to initiate contact this time around, reaching out to wrap his thumb and forefinger around Miya’s wrist, gently tugging on his arm as he did to get his attention. 

Miya turned to face him, eyes focused on the point of contact before shifting to squint at Kiyoomi because of the afternoon sun in his eyes. There’s concern tugging on the curve of his lip, “Omi?”

If Kiyoomi was going to be honest with himself, he wasn’t sure why he had decided to stop him and he certainly wasn’t sure why he’d decided to do so by grabbing hold of his wrist when ‘Miya’ would have worked just fine. He stored away the knowledge that his wrist was thinner than he thought. He also looked rather nice when he was concerned, Kiyoomi noted, it made him come across as caring. But then again, he didn’t want him to look at him like that. He certainly did not want to dwell on him looking at him like that. The expression could just be a front, everything could be a front and it probably was a front with how Hinata’s sharp gaze was trained on their hands. 

Miya was still looking at him expectantly. Ah right, he was supposed to reply. 

“Don’t be late,” Kiyoomi decided to settle on. Reminding him was good, it was natural, it was expected. And a split second later, he tacked on a “love.” 

* * *

The hour hand was at five and the minute hand hit four as Kiyoomi stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. Another towel, this one microfiber, was picked up to dry his hair as he stood in front of the mirror. A quick dab at the stray water droplets that dripped along the side of his face before he let the towel rest around his neck, pushing every single thought out of his mind to focus on the tasks at hand. 

Skincare came first. Skincare was a routine, a 6 step process he’d perfected through various trials and errors that came with trying to figure out which worked best for him. Routines were good, easier to focus on, easier to feel in control. Control was what he wanted, what he craved and so he began breaking down the steps into substeps, starting with the headband to push his hair away from his face. The rest followed, each course of action accompanied by the recital of the rest of the procedure over and over in a never-ending loop.

Pads of his fingers gently massaging his skin, face mask peeled away with deft fingers, water splashed on his face to rinse away the foam, the texture of microfibre wads as he used it to spread the toner, eyes closed as he sprayed the serum, lotion, and cream layered on as a final touch. Control, liberate, clear, repeat. 

Hair came next, another routine, another process with no room for thought. Fingers carding through the still damp strands. Three drops of hair tonic in the center of his palm, hands rubbed together to spread before being applied and combed through for even distribution. Fingertips dipping into clay, warming it up in the palm of his hands followed by styling it through, working from root to tip with the help of a comb until satisfied. 

Kiyoomi stared at himself in the mirror when he was done. He’d done the side part as per usual and slicked the hair back that wasn’t a part of the curls he let spill over his forehead. It looked neater and tamer than the style he normally adopted on a daily basis. 

Judgment? He’d deliver it later when there wasn't 40 minutes left on the clock before Miya showed up. For now, he was going to proceed to the next and final stage: suiting up. 

The suit was already laid out on the bed as he walked out of the bathroom clad in his briefs, the towels ditched in the laundry bin. The air was cool against his skin, the rug warm under his feet as he picked the shirt up and shrugged it on. 

Kiyoomi had just finished tucking his shirt into his trousers when his phone chimed signaling a message notification. His shoulders stiffened at the sound, hands freezing in the process of buckling the belt. He swallowed, taking in deep breaths as he forced himself to relax. It was nothing, just the phone, a text message, words on a screen. He was still alone. 

“Hey Siri,” he called out, “read my new message.” 

“Reading your newest message from Komori sent at 6:04 PM: _you’re going to send me an update every hour. This isn’t a request, you’re going to do it. If anything goes wrong call me! I won’t be able to make it over right away but if it's a worst-case scenario I will be there as fast as I can, I swear. Everything is going to be fine, Sakusa. You’ll be fine. Breathe._ ” 

  
  


Miya’s text message arrived at precisely 6:25 PM while Kiyoomi was straightening the cuffs of his suit.

**[06:25 PM] Miya :** im here

 **[06:25 PM] Miya :** jus so u know

His eyebrow quirked up despite himself, he didn’t actually expect Miya to be on time let alone show up a little earlier. Impressive. When he’d initially proposed picking Miya up, he’d taken into consideration that Miya took more time than him to get ready (and that Kiyoomi would rather be the one driving.)

I’ll be there. **: You [06:26 PM]**

Kiyoomi put the phone down on top of the drawers, looking himself over in the full-length mirror in his walk-in closet. All that was left was wearing his watch and shoes. 

He pressed the top drawer which opened with a click, sliding out to show the velvet padding inside of it where Kiyoomi placed his watches and cufflinks. Without a glance towards the other options, Kiyoomi picked the entirely matte black Tag Heuer chronograph, the metallic underside cold against his skin as he placed it on his wrist while deft fingers buckled the soft leather belt with a practiced gait. 

The familiar sight of it gave him some amount of comfort as he took a deep breath, taking a quick look at the dial. Oh, Miya was going to hold this over his head. His phone buzzed in his hand as he grabbed it and walked out. 

**[06:29 PM] Miya :** i was bein serious ya know 

**[06:29 PM] Miya :** i had the car cleaned 

**[06:30 PM] Miya :** _photo attachment_

 **[06:30 PM] Miya :** thats proof

Kiyoomi slipped his shoes on with the slight difficulty that came with not kneeling down to make it easier. Multitasking was probably not a good idea either as he slid his mask over one ear followed by the other. The gloves came on next as hurriedly as he could while balancing his phone and wallet in one hand. After pondering over it for a millisecond, Kiyoomi grabbed his trench coat, the suit wasn’t going to be enough to keep the cold out come midnight (though he hoped with everything he had he’d be back sooner than that, even when he knew it was a futile thing to hope for). 

**[06:32 PM] Miya :** so you comin 

**[06:32 PM] Miya :** or am i bein stood up

Miya was definitely going to be holding this over his head.

Lift. **: You [06:33 PM]**

A lie. Miya wouldn’t know. 

“Admin: Kiyoomi. Lights out. Security System: Delta,” Kiyoomi called out, before letting the door shut behind him with a beep to confirm the locking system clicking into place. 

Once inside the closed metal enclosure of the lift, Kiyoomi clicked on the photo Miya sent him. It was the cramped interior of his sports car, the furnishing all done in black. It certainly did look cleaner than Kiyoomi ever expected it to be but that still didn’t excuse the lack of space. He wondered if Miya put any actual thought into buying the car and didn’t just merely buy it because it was cool. 

The doors slid open and as Kiyoomi entered the lobby, the first thing he noted was the figure standing outside, leaning against a mass of black while they idly scrolled through their phone. Miya Atsumu. 

He looked up as Kiyoomi stepped out of the building, seemingly taking every inch of him in, before pushing himself off of his Mclaren P1. The suit looked good on him, even better than it did in the trial room. His bleached blond hair was slicked back, some strands artfully loose that framed his face. He looked handsome and confident, teeth flashing a brilliant white as he flashed a lazy grin at Kiyoomi while sliding his phone into his pocket, “Thought ya were gonna leave me to freeze out here all alone in the cold, Omi.”

“You finally figured out how to tuck your shirt in properly, congratulations.” 

“The hell’s that supposed ta mean?” he snapped. Loud, annoying, normal. 

  
  


In his car. **: You [06:40 PM]**

It’s clean. **: You [06:40 PM]**

  
  


The car ride was spent staring out of the window, trying to focus on anything that wasn’t the pit of dread that boiled in his stomach, the intensity of which increased with every kilometer they drew closer to the venue. He tried counting the number of cars they drove past but lost count 2 minutes in, he tried counting backward from 100 but that barely took 1 minute to get done, he tried counting the number of windows in the building they were parked next to waiting for the signal to turn green but Miya’s Mclaren was a low suspension sports car making it impossible for him to see after a certain point. 

“Omi?” Miya’s voice was quiet in the compact space. “Are ya okay?” 

“I’m fine,” he gritted out.

“Ya don’t look fine,” Miya pointed out, voice still annoyingly quiet. Kiyoomi could see his reflection in the window. He was looking right at him, one hand still on the steering wheel. “Yer leg’s been joltin’ fer a while now.”

Kiyoomi swallowed, the movement thick. He clenched his fist where it was resting on his thigh, the gloves preventing him from digging his nails into his skin, wishing that doing so would still his leg somehow. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. Miya knew what he needed to know. 

“We can cancel,” he said, gentle and kind, things Miya Atsumu wasn’t meant to be towards him. “We don’t have ta go, ya can blame it on me.” 

“Be quiet, Miya.” 

“I’m bein’ serious though. I can turn the car ‘round.” Horns began to blare behind them, the light had turned green, Miya was still looking right at him. “We can go somewhere else, anywhere ya want.”

“Drive.”

“Ya don’t hafta force yerself to go.”

“I SAID DRIVE, MIYA.” He didn’t mean to snap, he didn’t mean to yell, head turning to face Miya as he did, watching his expression turn taut as he hit the gas. 

He knew he should apologize, he knew. His hand was shaking too now and Kiyoomi, sick and twisted Kiyoomi, thanked him instead in his mind for he found something else to focus on, allowing the self-hatred to pool in his gut and drown the dread. 

They were minutes away from the Ritz when Miya spoke up again, breaking Kiyoomi out of the vague trance-like state he’d been brooding in. His voice remained leveled despite the edge to it that scrapped at his skin causing more damage than his nails could ever do. “I don’t think yer allowed to take yer anger out on me either.” 

  
  


Kiyoomi was 4 when he started living with his grandmother. His parents dropped by whenever they could, not often and never long. Phone calls were sporadic, time zones never matched up. He found solace in being alone. 

Kiyoomi was 8 when he first stepped out of his mother’s reach. It was a literal and figurative thing. His parents had recently flown in from abroad, his mother kneeled with her arms outstretched. He stepped away from her, disgust evident on his face. They’d been abroad, unknown pathogens could’ve been picked up or transferred. Someone onboard the plane must’ve sneezed 3500 Km above sea level, someone must’ve tapped them on the shoulder with their unwashed hands, they certainly haven’t washed themselves after getting back. 

Kiyoomi was 16 when he realized he’d never fulfill his parent’s dreams. Volleyball was what he wanted to pursue, satisfaction was what he craved. A desk job would never give him that, following his parents’ footsteps would never give him that. His parent’s validation meant nothing to him when he wasn’t satisfied with himself. He broke the news to them. It wasn’t pretty. He knew it wouldn’t be, so why did it still hurt nonetheless? 

Kiyoomi was 18 when he entered university. Computer Science. Just as his parents wanted. He didn’t mind, the goal was still volleyball, he could balance the two. He’d always been good at studying, it was going to be fine. Except that it wasn’t. He was struggling, the frustration of it bleeding onto the court when he slammed the ball with more force than necessary, pushing himself past his limits just to assure himself that he was good at something. It took everything he had to maintain his grade, they were messed up and all over the place, nothing like the standards he had in high school. Volleyball, on the other hand, was a release. It had always been. 

Kiyoomi was 21 when he signed up with MSBY Black Jackals. As the MVP of the Collegiate Volleyball Championship, he had his pick of offers to choose from. So, what could’ve possibly been better than being a part of the starting line up of one of the strongest teams in the V. League Division 1? 

Kiyoomi was 23 when he walked through the doors of the Ritz-Carlton with Miya’s hand on the small of his back. 

  
  


We reached. **: You [07:37 PM]**

  
  


“Do you have a reservation?” 

“Under Sakusa.” 

“Right this way please.” 

At some point, Miya’s arm had snaked itself around Kiyoomi’s waist pulling him close against him. Kiyoomi didn’t push him away, letting Miya take the lead with his confident smile that didn’t seem to match his eyes. He was good at that, hiding his emotions under a facade so brittle and thin Kiyoomi was surprised people didn’t see right through it. He wondered if people even bothered. 

They followed the host into the restaurant, the smell of food and wine filling the air. Wooden furnished walls with paintings hung along them, warm lighting, the fireplace crackling away, clinks of wine glasses and cutlery, the low murmur of voices, white plush sofas, and deep red armchairs, red and white throw pillows, a grand chandelier, a glass vase in the center of it all surrounded by four curved sofas caving it in, all fitting the European aesthetic it aimed to achieve. And there, sitting on one of the white curved sofas sat Kiyoomi’s parents, Sakusa Toshi and Sakusa Kaori. 

They stood up as they approached, Kiyoomi’s heart stalling in his chest. Miya gripped his waist, a hard squeeze, and then his arm fell away and it was all Kiyoomi could do to brace himself as he stepped forward with a nod towards the host in dismissal. 

Sakusa Toshi was a tall man with light brown hair that resembled Komori’s. His eyes were a colder shade of blue and there was a stern line to his mouth as he regarded them. He was handsome in a way that old men made of money were wont to be and he certainly did come from wealth, the sort that might have been deemed unimaginable to a commoner’s mind. Kiyoomi knew his father could come across as friendly when he wanted to or trustworthy when he needed it to be, just as he was doing right now, the initial frown being replaced by a smile.

Sakusa Kaori, on the other hand, was a remarkably beautiful woman with inky black curls and eyes as dark as midnight just like her son. A beauty spot under her right eye, makeup was done to accentuate her high cheekbones, the dress she wore emphasizing her curves for she was extremely fit with a body models could only dream of having at her age. Kiyoomi still found himself wanting to step back away from her, from her cold hard gaze and the mean curve of her lips. She was beautiful, yes, but in a way roses with their thorns intact, and Kiyoomi could feel them being pressed into his side. 

“Otousan. Okaasan.” He placed his hand on Miya’s back, beckoning him forward. “I’d like to officially introduce you to my boyfriend, Miya Atsumu.” 

“Good evenin’,” Miya smiled, bowing a little as he did. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet ya.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you too,” Toshi said with a warm smile as he held his hand out to Miya. Kiyoomi watched as Miya clasped his hand in return, a feeling of detachment washing over him. 

“Yes, Kiyoomi’s told us so much about you,” Kaori chimed in, voice like liquid butter as she also held her hand out to Miya, Miya who leaned down as he brought her hand up to press a kiss onto the back of it. 

“Has he now?” Miya asked, shooting a glance at Kiyoomi as he straightened up. Kiyoomi’s eyebrow twitched, they all knew perfectly well that he had barely said a word about Miya. “I hope he hasn’t been bad mouthin’ me.” 

His father laughed, ebullient and generous while his mother cracked a smile. Kiyoomi scowled behind his mask, aware of the fact that the only one who noticed was Miya. 

“Sit down, sit down,” Toshi offered, waving his hand towards the deep red armchairs as he and Kaori took their seats on the sofa. “We don’t want to keep standing around now, do we?” 

The chairs were warm and plush, the throw pillows offering a semblance of support to his back. Kiyoomi wished he could sink into it completely and have it swallow him whole. He lifted the napkin beside his plate, unfurling it from its cylindrical fold before laying it out on his lap. 

“Aren’t you going to take your gloves off, dear?” His mother asked, tilting her chin to the side. Kiyoomi could feel all of their eyes on him, their gaze seeping under his skin, clawing their way into his skull. They’d only just sat down, barely three minutes had passed and he was expected to survive three hours? Four? Delightful. He exhaled, long and slow before pulling his gloves off, finger by finger, and exposing his hands to the room. The mask came off next, if only so that Kiyoomi wouldn’t be able to give her the satisfaction of pointing it out. 

“So, Atsumu-kun,” Toshi began, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table as he wrung his hands together. A waiter appeared with the menus and placed them before them, Miya was the only to turn his head towards him in acknowledgment. “You’re both on the same team together.” 

A statement, not a question. Kiyoomi slipped his hand into the pocket of his coat pulling out his hand sanitizer as Miya answered. “Yes, sir. I joined the team way before him though.”

A dollop on his palm, a dollop on Miya’s outstretched palm before being pocketed away again. 

“Oh? How so?” Kaori prompted. 

“I joined straight from high school.” 

There was an imperceptible change in mood, one that Kiyoomi was more accustomed to when it was just his parents and him. To anyone else, Miya joining a Division 1 team straight from highschool was commendable but to Kiyoomi’s parents? It was the wrong thing to say, even if it was the truth. He couldn’t have asked Miya to lie and there was no point in it anyway when he was very sure his mother had already gone through extreme lengths to find out every bit of information she could about him. Asking Miya about it was nothing less than for her sick amusement that Kiyoomi was very familiar with. It was only a matter of time and then she’d turn right back to him, her original muse. 

“No college? No degree?” It was his father. Kiyoomi kept his expression carefully neutral as he picked up the menu, taking note of the fact that it was written in kanji and french. 

Miya laughed, something he did in an attempt to turn up his charisma. It usually worked, Kiyoomi had seen it work. “Didn’t see the point in it. It’s not that I didn’t get scholarships, I got ‘em both for academics and sports, well obviously.” 

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi spoke up, leaning forward to show him the menu, “I think you’d like the salmon mousse canapés. There’s even regular smoked salmon if you want that instead.” 

“That does sound nice-”

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Kaori cut in. “We already know what we’re going to go with.”

“We do?” Kiyoomi questioned, skeptical. 

“Yes, one of the dinner course options. It has canapés too.” 

“Unless you had something specific in mind you’d like to try?” his father asked, looking between the two of them. 

“No,” Kiyoomi said, surrendering the menu back to the table. 

“And I hope you like Pichon Lalande,” Toshi said with an enthusiasm that had always been reserved for wine. Kiyoomi didn’t pretend to understand it, the same way his parents didn’t pretend to understand him. “I was so glad to hear they had it in stock. Ah! There it is right now!” 

Their server pushed the auxiliary table with the alleged wine bottle sitting in a bucket of ice, partly covered with a serviette, towards their table. They bowed a little before taking the bottle out from it with their right hand, rotating the bottle around its axis on a napkin. Kiyoomi looked away, partly because he knew the procedure himself and partly because the thought of alcohol in his system again was unsettling. He tuned out the conversation taking place around him, only focusing on a specific spot where on the empty plate present in front of him. 

The plate had a golden olive rim with intricate designs etched into it and a rather small circular indent in the middle meant for the food to be placed on to. There was the restaurant's logo imprinted across it. Kiyoomi thought it came off as tacky, just as he thought the vibe of the restaurant, in general, came off as stuffy and overbearing. But then again, that was probably because of his parents. 

“Omi?” 

“Hmm?” Kiyoomi hummed in affirmation, not taking his eyes off from the spot. 

“Ya listenin’?” 

“No.” 

There was a giggle, a familiar sound from how often he seemed to do it. Kiyoomi turned to look at Miya, eyes closed and nose scrunched up in the way it always did, and maybe, just maybe, he should have asked him to turn the car around when he offered. 

“Kiyoomi,” his mother called out, a warning ton laced into her voice. _Don’t zone out again, you’re not a child._

“Sorry.” The apology tumbled out not that he meant it, with her he never did. It was easier to toss it out when you didn’t mean it than when you did, Kiyoomi found. “What were we discussing?” 

“Atsumu-kun was talking about how the both of you made it onto the national team,” his father informed him, words covered in polite enthusiasm. He didn’t actually care. He’d be beaming wider if Kiyoomi were to declare he was quitting volleyball to join his company instead. 

“We did.” 

“You never told us,” his mother pointed out in mock hurt. 

“I know.” 

Another giggle escaped Miya causing the three of them to turn towards him. Kiyoomi fought the urge to smile as a wave of fondness washed over him. 

The arrival of their first course, hors d’oeuvres, brought a momentary end to their previous discussion, replacing it with one of admiration for the food; his parents praising the artistic placement of miniature servings of food while Miya politely refrained from commenting, though Kiyoomi was sure he saw his eye twitch. Aesthetic and quality over quantity along with exorbitant rates, the casual Michelin star experience. 

Kiyoomi watched Miya out of the corner of his eye, approving the delicate way he held his fork and knife as he cut into his portion instead of eating it all at once like a heathen even if they did come in bite-sized servings. 

“Atsumu-kun,” Kaori began and Kiyoomi knew the words that were going to tumble out of her mouth before she even said them. “You mentioned that you received scholarships based on your academics too?”

Miya took his time, lifting his serviette up to wipe at crumbs near his mouth. When he did answer, his tone was filled with warmth, a tone that was reserved solely for when he talked about Osamu (specifically when his twin was out of earshot). “Yea, my brother and I have a horrible habit of making everythin’ a competition. My grades were purely a result of that.” 

The reply seemed to catch Toshi’s attention. “Oh, your brother?” 

“Yeah, ‘Samu, my twin.”

“And what does he do?” 

Kiyoomi nearly scoffed into his food. He stared at his plate, telepathically wishing Miya wouldn’t answer the question because they knew. They already knew what his brother did, they knew but they were still going to ask him that anyway out of their sick need to pit people against each other. Kiyoomi knew what their follow up question would be, he could sense it waiting on his mother’s tongue. He put the fork down, pushing his plate towards Miya. 

“He owns Onigiri Miya.” It was said offhandedly before he turned his attention to Kiyoomi’s plate, lowering his voice in concern, “Omi? Babe, yer not hungry?” 

“You liked the canapés, didn’t you?” Kiyoomi asked, softly enough so he could pretend it was just the two of them, away from his parents' prying eyes. 

“Yea but are ya sure yer okay with givin’ them ta me?” 

“I don’t mind if it's you.” 

Their plates were cleared away shortly afterward, replaced by fresh ones as they proceeded to the next course on the menu. There’s another round of admiration for the flavor that popped along the taste buds, accentuated by a sip of wine. 

Kiyoomi wasn’t fooled by the act, he knew his parents were lying in wait until it seemed like an appropriate amount of time had passed before broaching the subject again. _Give it a rest_ was what he wanted to say, and if he were braver, if they were anyone else, he would’ve. 

“Don’t you think you’ve wasted your potential?” It wasn’t an innocent question, not in any way. It was accusing, filled with pity, forcing you to think about what could have been. If directed to the general audience, it might’ve led them to a bout of existential crisis, Kiyoomi knew he would’ve had one himself. But it was posed to Miya Atsumu; Miya Atsumu who probably never considered a life without volleyball, never felt the need to. 

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi said, eyes still trained on his plate as he toyed with his food, “you don’t need to answer that.” 

Miya reached out, resting his hand on Kiyoomi’s thigh. Reassurance. _It’s okay._

“Not at all, volleyball was always it for me,” he replied with absolute surety. Admirable to others, not Kiyoomi’s parents. They definitely thought he was being stupid. Maybe, that’s okay. “Bein’ out there on that court, havin’ my own personnel of monsters to toss to is what success means to me.” 

“But-” 

“That’s enough,” Kiyoomi snapped, cutting his mother off as he put his fork down. “Miya, just because you like talking about yourself doesn’t mean you’ve to answer everything thrown your way.” 

Silence settled over the table, cold and harsh like the winter night outside. Kiyoomi had gone ahead and crossed the line he hadn’t really meant to cross. Not because he was worried about angering his parents but because he was selfish. His mother was studying him again and he knew the target had shifted, he was her muse as it was originally meant to be. Kiyoomi picked up his fork again, piercing it through the meat before lifting it up to his mouth. 

“We didn’t mean to overstep,” Toshi recovers. “We apologize if we did.” 

“It’s fine,” Miya reassured, unbothered by the tense atmosphere. 

Kaori leaned forward as if letting Miya on a little secret, dainty hand holding on to her wine glass. “It’s just Kiyoomi’s always been good at academics, even in college-” 

Kiyoomi pushed his chair back as he abruptly stood up, the sound of it loud in the restaurant causing people from the neighboring tables to look at him. _Bathroom_ , he wanted to announce but the words were stuck in his throat and he didn’t trust himself to speak. So, he did the next best thing. He left, feet hurriedly carrying him to where he assumed the restroom was. 

  
  


I’m in the bathroom. **: You [09:21 PM]**

Couldn’t stand them. **: You [09:22 PM]**

  
  


The restroom was white gold marble tiled, bathed in a warm orange glow, clean-cut surfaces, and spacious. Most importantly, it was empty. 

With no actual reason to be in the bathroom other than to hide, Kiyoomi washed his hands once, twice, in a semblance to have something to do. He scrubbed at it harder than he had any need to, the skin turning red where he raked his nails against it. The tap turned off when he pulled his hands away from the stream. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, not a strand of hair out of place, cheeks slightly flushed, dark green eyes staring back at him. If only he were gripping the counter in distress, he’d resemble a blockbuster Hollywood thriller movie protagonist with the weight of the world on their shoulders. 

_‘You’re distressed right now though, aren’t you?’_ the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like his cousin asked. 

“Shut up.” 

The door was pushed open as someone stepped inside before the voice could argue with him any further. Kiyoomi met his gaze in the mirror, watching Miya as he walked over until he stood behind him. 

“Hey,” he said, a lopsided smile present on his face. “Told ‘em I’d check up on ya.” 

Kiyoomi didn’t reply, reaching over to take a tissue out from the dispenser to dry his hands with. Miya stepped in front of the sink beside his, putting his hand under the soap dispenser and letting a generous amount fall onto it. 

Kiyoomi peered at him out of the corner of his eye as he bundled up the tissue into a soggy ball and dumped it into the bin. Miya was thorough, rubbing the back of his palm, in between his fingers and the tips. He wiped his hands dry with the tissue, stepping closer to Kiyoomi, reaching around him to dump it into the trash. 

He was close, their breaths mingling together, the dim lighting making Miya’s eyelashes seem darker than they actually were. Kiyoomi gulped, his throat suddenly parched as his gaze darted down towards Miya’s mouth, the dip in the curve of his upper lip, before looking back at him. He could hear his heartbeat roaring loud in his ears, he wondered whether Miya could hear it too. 

Miya raised his hand until it was centimeters away from Kiyoomi’s face. He held it there, momentarily suspended with a question written in his eyes. Kiyoomi didn’t pull away. He didn’t pull away even as Miya caressed his cheek, the gesture tender and soft, Kiyoomi felt his muscles turn to putty. 

He let out a sigh as he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “I should’ve asked you to turn around. I should’ve listened to you.” 

Miya chuckled, low and quiet, it might’ve been a puff of air. “Sakusa Kiyoomi admittin’ that he should’ve listened to me? That makes all of this worth it ya know.” 

Kiyoomi glared at him but even he knew that there was no heat behind it. All it did was make Miya laugh. 

“C’mon now, ya don't have ta look so morbid or mopey. It's ruinin' the suit.” 

By the time they make it back to the table, the next course is already set out before them; the fish dishes. The display looked sad to Kiyoomi, there wasn’t enough sauce drizzled on the cut of meat giving off the impression that it was lacking something. 

Kiyoomi continued to be overly critical of his food in favor of having to deal with the very awkward silence that still blanketed itself over their table. 

Kiyoomi knew it wouldn’t be long before it’d be pulled back. His mother certainly looked like she was on the verge of saying something. 

“Kiyoomi…” 

Ah, there it was.

“Kiyoomi, you know we worry about you.” 

Kiyoomi didn’t reply, content with glaring holes into his food as he picked it apart with his fork. 

“We just want what’s best for you. We don’t want you to regret anything.” 

He bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to keep a straight face, forcing himself to keep his emotions at bay, to not have them on display. A neutral expression, he could do that. He heard this argument of theirs so many times before, he could manage sitting through it. He was going to be fine. 

It was his dad who spoke up next. Kiyoomi could see Toshi reach out to put his hand on Kaori’s arm, silencing her. “You worked hard for your major. We don’t want you to feel like it’s going to waste.” 

A laugh tore itself out of Kiyoomi’s throat as he let his fork drop from his hand. There’s the telltale pinpricks of tears at the corner of his eye, his heart was beating too fast, too loud and his chest felt hollowed out as he looked at the two people who were responsible for his existence on this godforsaken planet. Because honestly, what the fuck? How would they know what he was worried about? How would they have any idea about the thoughts that go through his head? Especially when they’ve never tried getting to know him? And if Kiyoomi were to give a shit about his stupid major going to waste then he would’ve quit volleyball and pursued it. 

Not to mention the fact that Kiyoomi had _struggled_ with his major. He hated every second of it because even though he knew, he _knew_ , that Computer Science had never been his goal, will never be his goal, it still bugged him to no end that he was struggling with it. His grades weren’t up to the standards he usually held for himself and maybe that was okay. It was okay because ultimately, he didn’t _care._ But it still clawed at him, making him feel worthless in ways only academics could only tend to do. His parents had never been happy with his marks and yet, here they were lying through their teeth about how hard Kiyoomi had worked? Bullshit. Kiyoomi knew it took twice the effort for him to just maintain his score, let alone trying to uplift it, it took effort trying to merely give a shit about it. 

Kiyoomi knew he was sneering, that there was an untamed rage that had unfurled itself inside of him and it was now visible in the hardness of his eyes and the curl of his lip. Guess he finally hit his limit, he thought without humor. His tone was sharp as he spat the words out, barely managing to keep his voice level. “And I told you, multiple times, that it isn’t your place to stick your nose in my business _especially_ when you’ve been absent for most of my life.” 

There was a sharp intake of breath from Kaori, hurt flashing across her face. Kiyoomi knew he shouldn’t be as satisfied as he was for being the one responsible for it. 

“Kiyoomi,” Toshi snapped, a warning note in his voice and anger in his eyes. 

“Kiyoomi,” Kaori sounded more placating as she reached her hand out across the table towards him. “You know it’s because of your father’s work. We still care about you, we only want what's best _for_ _you_.” 

“It is not our fault you lack ambition,” Toshi added, raising his hand up to silence his wife. “You were a child gifted with so much intelligence, born into a privileged household and you throw it all away to slam a ball across a court.” 

Kiyoomi grit his jaw as he stared his father down. He literally made the Olympic team for fucks sake. “Ambition? Just because my ambition isn’t the same as yours doesn’t mean I don’t have it.” 

“Dear, we worry about you,” his mother spoke up before Toshi could reply. “Especially with your _condition_. We know it’s hard for you-.”

“What condition?” For Kiyoomi’s part, he forgot Miya was sitting next to him, and judging by the way his parents turned to look at him, they had too. “What condition does Omi have?” 

Confusion splashed itself over Kaori’s face as she regarded his question. “Aren’t you dating him?” 

“I am. So, if there’s somethin’ my boyfriend didn’t think was important enough ta tell me then I’d like to know.” Kiyoomi stared at him at a loss for words. There was no way Miya didn’t know what they were referring to. 

“His complete aversion to germs, of course,” Kaori answered, disbelief still coloring her tone as if she couldn’t believe Miya needed to ask that. “Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s good to want to be safe but to such an extreme level as his, it’s irrational.” 

Miya didn’t reply. He leaned back in his seat, eyes narrowed as he stared at them. Kiyoomi couldn’t tell what was going through his head, but he noticed the slight clench to his jaw and the hardened look in his eyes and he was glad that he wasn’t on the other side of that stare. 

“Omi, I think I’ve had enough.” The words were spoken to him but Miya continued to look straight ahead. 

“Miya?” 

Miya stood up, pushing his chair back before finally turning to Kiyoomi. His eyes were the color of melted milk chocolate and looked just as comforting as he looked at him without any of the harshnesses that’d been present in them moments earlier. He extended his hand out towards him with a gentle smile that made his features look softer in the yellow glow of the restaurant. “Time we leave, yea?” 

Kiyoomi stared at him for so long he felt like he imagined the words that had tumbled out of his mouth. He couldn’t find it in him to speak so he tentatively placed his hand in Miya’s and let him pull him up out of his seat. He grabbed his gloves and mask from where he had placed them beside his plate, refusing to glance at his parents. 

“Good to go?” Miya asked, placing his hand on Kiyoomi’s back. 

Kiyoomi nodded as he held his things close to his chest, he’d wear them back in the car. 

“Great,” Miya grinned, slipping his arm around his waist as he pulled him close to his side. “But before we go, I’m gonna give you two a piece of my mind.” 

_Was Miya out of his mind?_ Miya ignored the questioning look Kiyoomi sent him, his focus entirely set on Kiyoomi’s parents who were still seated, staring at them in incomprehensible shock. The words that dropped out of his mouth spoken in a tone so harsh, frigid and cold, it rivaled the winter winds as it pierced through the room that Kiyoomi was sure everyone’s eyes were on them. 

“Kiyoomi’s fine just as he is. Sure, he doesn’t like bein’ exposed to unknown environments, he likes to keep clean and prefers that everythin’ smells like bleach. So what? It might hinder him and probably has affected a lot of aspects of his life but that doesn’t mean you of all people have any right to treat it like a fuckin’ burden. Especially when yer not the ones who have to deal with it at all. And second of all? Fuck you. No, seriously. Fuck. You. Just because he’s yer child doesn’t mean ya force him to live his life up to yer standards. He’s not you. He’s goin’ ta have different priorities than you. Yer son represents Japan in the Olympics and ya still have the fuckin’ audacity to say he lacked ambition? Why? Because it’s not the high-level corporate desk job ya wanted? Because he doesn’t sit through meetings every other hour of the day and gets ta do what he wants instead? Kiyoomi’s successful more than ya ever will be.” 

Miya turned to him then, the tenderest of smiles gracing his face, and Kiyoomi felt the pit in his stomach be replaced by something much lighter as he allowed himself to be whisked away. 

The fluffiness that filled the cavity in his chest expanded its territory even more as Miya opened the car door for him, hand once again stretched out towards him, a grin on his face and mirth in his eyes, “Run away with me, Omi.” 

“You’re embarrassing,” Kiyoomi told him, fondness seeping into his voice as he took his hand. 

  
  


We left. **: You [10:06 PM]**

  
  


It was forty-five minutes later when Miya pulled up in front of Kiyoomi’s building. The drive home had been quiet, lo-fi beats playing from the speakers at a low volume as Kiyoomi stared out of the window, fingers idly tapping to the beat, relatively calmer than he’d been in weeks.

Miya still had one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the gearstick. The music had been turned off. 

Kiyoomi knew he should thank him but showing gratitude had never been his forte and voicing it out loud was an entirely different thing altogether. And so he covered Miya’s hand with his, interlacing their fingers together before giving it a squeeze because while Kiyoomi didn’t exactly trust Miya in his entirety, he trusted him enough to know that he understood what Kiyoomi was trying to get across. 

  
  


I’m home. **: You [10:57 PM]**

  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know when i said i was projecting onto kiyoomi i really wasn't kidding lol and please ignore the lack of rich people food . i couldn't read the menu my french is wonky n my japanese is very basic and i . was lazy n did not want to make up my own menu so . 
> 
> kiyoomi's watch, tag heuer carrera, looks like [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Eh4mwBBUwAEpQy7?format=jpg&name=medium)  
> atsumu's mclaren looks like [this](https://blog.dupontregistry.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/mclaren-p1-slider.jpg)  
> osamu's ducati looks like [this](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EiID7jAUYAA3w8e?format=jpg&name=large)
> 
> HI [MIRANDA](https://twitter.com/mirandarv17) DREW ART OF THEM IN THE ALEXANDER MCQUEEN SUITS WHICH YOU CAN SEE [HERE](https://twitter.com/mirandarv17/status/1314606532110086144?s=19) :D
> 
> thank you so much for reading this if you've read this far !!! feedback is very much appreciated because i kid you not it actually fuels me so very much as you can see from this monstrosity so yes please lemme know what you think i'd really love to hear it !!!
> 
> finally if u want updates n incoherent yelling over atsumu n suna or just inarizaki in general especially since season 4 is airing you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/inrizaki)


	5. actually chap 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw : text messages, genshin impact, pizza, more text messages, implied sexual content, peanut butter used recreationally, fan meets, peaky blinders 
> 
> **DISCLAIMERS:** there are some major spoilers from peaky blinders s3 ep 1, there's a lot of sex talk n towards the end there's well more sex talk (around the part where the facetime bit starts) which is why the change in rating so please proceed w caution !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uni sucks ass + ive been playing genshin + i dont rlly like this chapter but i didn't like the prev one either so this might be a me thing + the way none of you pointed out that the timeline is fucked lol continue ignoring it thank u but ive been having a crisis over it anyway rip 
> 
> this would've been longer but for my sanity (n yours) i split it so things i thought i'd skip can actually fit next chap so yay ! this isn't a forsaken 10k+ long n a good chunk of it is chatfic so lol my bad i hope u enjoy it nonetheless idk as usual i didn't read thru it nor is this beta'd <3 
> 
> also holy fuck you guys have been so nice to me so cries thank u so much it helped me get thru the mess that was midsem month i rlly appreciate y'all <3333
> 
> also this fic would be in a standstill if it weren't for marty lol i couldn't figure a main plot point out w/o her n also . pizza thing everyone say thank you marty 
> 
> also x 2 yay rinnie for the peaky blinders brainrot eventho i just skimmed thru wiki summaries and s3 . i will actually sit n watch it one day 
> 
> ok i'll shut up now lol

The parking lot was nearly filled by the time Kiyoomi showed up to morning practice. All the decent spots had been taken leaving two near the end, furthest away from the entrance. It’d been a tight fit, to wedge his car in the gap, but he managed to do so nonetheless. This was what he got for being late. 

Sakusa Kiyoomi was a methodological person, he preferred routines, he liked to stick to a schedule. Sakusa Kiyoomi was late for practice. After all, he had overslept because he’d been on a video call with Komori and Suna and had dozed off at 3 AM. 

(“Sakusa, shouldn’t you go to sleep now? Your first match this season is in a week.”

Kiyoomi had waved him off, “I slept in the afternoon, I’ll be fine.”

Komori looked at him in disapproval, Suna had sniggered as if he and Kiyoomi were sharing a secret.)

Kiyoomi wasn’t one to ruin his well-structured sleep schedule, though there were times when sleep seemed to evade him and it couldn’t be helped. If he were to take a moment to wonder about why he decided now of all times was a good time to start sabotaging it, he’d blame it on the fact that perhaps he’d been feeling a little more daring than usual. Of course, it was a product of the adrenaline that still sung in his veins from leaving the dinner after making sure his parents weren’t the ones with the last word. It may have been childish of him, but he had felt like a child, he had felt invincible. 

Except now he was late and he was starting to regret every single decision he’d ever made. 

Kiyoomi was halfway across the lobby when the door slid open behind him and the sound of footsteps echoing against the floor, louder than his own, brought him out of his reverie. 

“Omi-kun!” There was a pant for air, nearly bending over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath as he skidded to a stop beside Kiyoomi. Miya flashed him a smile while Kiyoomi belatedly realized that he had come to a stop too. “Yer late too, huh?” 

He gave Miya a once-over taking note of his appearance. His jacket sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, his shirt was crushed as if he’d grabbed it straight from the dryer, one of his shoelaces were untied, his fringe fell flat like all he had managed to do was run a comb through it. He was in a worse state than Kiyoomi was. “You’re a mess.” 

“Yea?” he laughed, averting his eyes as he straightened himself. “Not all of us can be prim and proper and have the time to go through their 7 step routine despite bein’ late ya know.” 

Kiyoomi quirked a brow at him before picking the pace up again. “C’mon, Miya. You don’t want to make it worse than it already is.” 

  
  


He should’ve seen it coming. It was the first thought in his head as they were greeted with deafening silence the moment they stepped foot into the locker room. Kiyoomi really should’ve seen it coming. 

Whatever Miya was in the process of telling him had died down in his throat as he surveyed the room. They had all of their teammates’ undivided attention, the curiosity present in their eyes almost reminiscent of the animal their team was named after. His instinct told him to leave, to shield himself from their view and Kiyoomi nearly found himself taking a step back. 

A moment passed, stretched out until it was ultimately torn apart by none other than Meian. “Oh, you two finally decided to show up,” he greeted, clasping his hands together with a wary glance towards Couch Foster. “As soon as you’ve changed, I need both of you to see me in my office.”

“The rest of you out,” Meian called out, turning back to look at the others, “get out onto the court already.” 

  
  


Meian’s office was off to the side in the locker room right next to Coach Foster’s, with a foggy glass door and a nameplate across it. The room was comfortable, to say the least; two armchairs in front of the desk, an office chair behind it, papers scattered across the tabletop. Kiyoomi felt like he was in an American high school sitcom and he was about to get suspended. Miya didn’t seem to be faring too well either, his fingers tugging at a loose thread of his shorts. 

The door clicked open causing both of them to jump in their seats as Meian stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Kiyoomi leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other as he watched Meian take his seat. 

No one spoke, both parties eyeing the other on the opposing side of the desk. Miya shifted in his spot, Kiyoomi could feel his gaze darted between him and Meian. Finally, the latter let out a sigh, settling back into his chair, his hand toying with the signature pen that’d been lying on the desk. Kiyoomi waited for the blow. 

“I’ve tried to be as respectful as possible and let you two handle whatever was going on between you guys, yourselves.” Meian was watching them now, looking for a reaction perhaps. Another sigh. “You’re both professional volleyball players on the same team, not just the Jackals but the National Team. Do you understand what that means?” 

He waited for a reply, but Kiyoomi wasn’t sure what he wanted to hear so he kept his mouth shut. It was too early to be dealing with this. This was unchartered territory, this was beyond what either of them had agreed to, this wasn’t a part of anything they had discussed, one wrong word and everything would probably fall apart. Miya, thankfully, seemed to be thinking the same thing. 

“I’m going to grow old way faster than I thought I would,” Meian muttered under his breath with a shake of his head. He leaned forward resting his elbows on the table, a slight frown present on his face. “We’re here to play volleyball. Of course, I don’t need to tell either of you that, both of you are amongst the most devoted players I’ve ever had the honor of playing beside. Your private lives are yours, whatever you two do off this court, outside of this gym, is none of my business. Will it affect the team’s publicity? Yes, it already has boosted it up. Coach Foster was showing me the stats and it's quite the spike, a whole 103% on the website and double that on Twitter! MSBY even trended for 15 hours after—”

He cleared his throat, having caught the look on their faces before continuing again. 

“Right, you wouldn’t want to know about that,” Meian said, letting out a weak laugh. “Where were we?” 

“Volleyball,” Miya supplied. Kiyoomi stared at him. “What? He was tellin’ us about how we’re very devoted athletes.” 

Kiyoomi opened his mouth to reply but Meian cut him off, taking the helm of the conversation yet again, “Yes, right, thank you Atsumu-kun. As I was saying, you’re both commendable players and I’m honored to be your captain. But,” a pause as he made eye contact with both of them, his tone more serious as he continued, “But, I need you two to promise me it won’t affect the team, it won’t affect your plays, that whatever you two have does not affect your careers. If there’s a spat between you two, I will still expect you to be at your fullest. If you fight, you’re going to keep your issues among yourselves and off of that court. Do I have your word?”

Kiyoomi glanced at Miya only to catch his gaze. There was the fleeting thought of how they were going to have to discuss this later on before Kiyoomi found himself answering in unison with Miya, “Yes, sir.” 

Meian let out a sigh of relief, settling back into his chair with a content smile on his face as if the weight he’d been carrying had finally been removed. 

“That’s great, glad we got that out of the way. Y’know I’m really happy for the both of you. You make a dashing couple!” He laughed, fondness seeping into his voice as it always did when he talked about his spouse, “My wife’s always said that if anyone on the team were to end up together, it’d be Sakusa and Miya.” Another laugh. “She sure was happy when she saw those pictures.”

Kiyoomi could feel his face heat up, probably sporting a furious shade of red from the intensity. He turned his head to the side, averting his eyes as he fatuously tried to cover it with his hand. It was pointless he knew, it drew more attention if anything but at least they wouldn’t see it. 

“Oh c’mon, you’re both in your twenties not sixteen,” Meian chided. “Okay, you can join practice now, I’ve tortured you guys enough, and do not be late again. Our first game is this weekend and I don’t want to have to kick you two off the starting rotation.” 

  
  


In the end, they didn’t talk about it, not when they walked out of the office, not when it was lunch break, not when it was time they left. They’d settled back into the facade they had maintained the week prior, almost a little too naturally if Kiyoomi were to allow himself to criticize it, but they didn’t talk about it. Not about how far they were willing to take this and certainly not about the dinner. 

Kiyoomi wasn’t sure what to make of it as he stood there under the streetlight next to his Aston, watching Miya’s back as he headed towards his car, having bid him goodnight. 

  
  


The text came right when Kiyoomi had gotten under the covers, ready to settle in for the night. The first notification had chimed the moment his head hit the pillow, he ignored it. He turned to his side, facing away from the bedside table, and closed his eyes. He was going to go to sleep, he was not going to let his schedule be wrecked yet again. 

He ignored the second, third, and fourth chimes too. He wasn’t going to pick up his phone, he was going to sleep. For a good 8 hours. He was a professional athlete, he needed his sleep. 

**_Beep. Tzzing._ **

Fucking hell. He pushed himself onto his elbows in a huff, right arm nearly knocking over the lamp as he grabbed his phone. 

**New messages from Miya (5)**

Kiyoomi stared at the screen, reading over it thrice to check if he’d misread. What did he want now? He let out a sigh as he made himself comfortable, phone inches away from his face causing him to squint as he unlocked it. 

**[11:14 PM] Miya :** help

 **[11:15 PM] Miya :** this is serious omi ure the only hope ive left

 **[11:16 PM] Miya :** u wouldnt leave me to die would you

 **[11:16 PM] Miya :** pleasedontleavemetodie u’d be sad if i died

 **[11:17 PM] Miya :** cmon i know ure awake its not 3 am 

What the fuck do you want? **: You [11:18 PM]**

 **[11:18 PM] Miya :** OMI URE AWAKE

Unfortunately. **: You [11:18 PM]**

 **[11:19 PM] Miya :** k so ive a question 

? **: You [11:20 PM]**

 **[11:21 PM] Miya :** if u freeze food does it rot

What. 

No. **: You [11:22 PM]**

 **[11:22 PM] Miya :** u sure cause this frozen pizza is like a couple days old

 **[11:23 PM] Miya :** i am still young i dont wanna die

You’re 24. **: You [11:23 PM]**

Read what’s written on the box. **: You [11:24 PM]**

 **[11:24 PM] Miya :** i threw it away lol 

Of course, he did.

Isn’t your brother there? **: You [11:25 PM]**

He’s a chef. Ask him. **: You [11:25 PM]**

 **[11:26 PM] Miya :** nah hes gone for the week

And? **: You [11:26 PM]**

That still doesn’t explain why you’re asking me. **: You [11:27 PM]**

 **[11:27 PM] Miya :** oh yea he blocked me 

**[11:28 PM] Miya :** ok so i ordered this 5 days ago 

**[11:28 PM] Miya :** should it still be ok

Kiyoomi gawked at the text on his screen, reading over them in utter disbelief. How Miya managed to render him speechless over text was probably a feat in and of itself. 

He blocked you. **: You [11:30 PM]**

 **[11:30 PM] Miya :** aw omi are u worried abt me :,)

 **[11:31 PM] Miya :** its ok he’ll unblock me tomorrow 

**[11:31 PM] Miya :** but im hungry today 

**[11:31 PM] Miya :** n i’d like to eat today so

Have you defrosted the pizza before? **: You [11:32 PM]**

 **[11:32 PM] Miya :** no 

**[11:32 PM] Miya :** lol i forgot i had it

 **[11:33 PM] Miya :** jus opened the freezer today cus hungry

So you bought it and shoved it in? **: You [11:33 PM]**

That’s all? **: You [11:34 PM]**

 **[11:34 PM] Miya :** no i got it n ate half of it 

**[11:35 PM] Miya :** n then i shoved it in 

Dread filled his stomach as he sat up, the covers falling off of him. He did not like the implications of what Miya meant. 

Let me get this straight. **: You [11:36 PM]**

Did you cook half of it or the full thing? **: You [11:36 PM]**

 **[11:36 PM] Miya :** ?? why would i cook it 

YOU ATE IT RAW ?????? **: You [11:36 PM]**

 **[11:37 PM] Miya :** NO TF 

**[11:37 PM] Miya :** I GOT IT DELIVERED TO ME

 **[11:37 PM] Miya :** COOKED

YOU SAID FROZEN PIZZA. **: You [11:38 PM]**

 **[11:38 PM] Miya :** YEA BECAUSE ITS CURRENTLY FROZEN

 **[11:38 PM] Miya :** WHYRE WE STILL YELLING

Please tell me you do not mean what I think you mean. **: You [11:39 PM]**

 **[11:39 PM] Miya :** should i send a picture

 **[11:40 PM] Miya :** hold on im sending one

Kiyoomi waited, letting the phone drop from his grasp and onto the bed as he rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Why was Miya Atsumu so difficult? 

**[11:42 PM] Miya :** _photo attachment_

Pizza slices wrapped up in foil. Frozen pizza slices. Pizza slices that were once a part of a large-sized pizza that was delivered to Miya in a cardboard box. Recently taken out of the freezer. 

Why. **: You [11:45 PM]**

 **[11:45 PM] Miya :**?

 **[11:45 PM] Miya :** wdym 

Why the goddamn fuck would you do that. **: You [11:46 PM]**

 **[11:46 PM] Miya :** i couldnt finish it :( 

You’re over 6ft tall. **: You [11:46 PM]**

 **[11:46 PM] Miya :**.

 **[11:46 PM] Miya :** i was full :| 

**[11:47 PM] Miya :** look can u pls just tell me if its ok to eat 

Kiyoomi grimaced, as he typed out his response even though it physically pained him to get the words out. 

You can eat it. **: You [11:49 PM]**

Food doesn’t rot when you freeze it because bacteria can’t grow on it. **: You [11:49 PM]**

The taste however won’t be the same. **: You [11:50 PM]**

It’ll taste bad or tasteless but it’s safe to eat. **: You [11:50 PM]**

You won’t die. **: You [11:51 PM]**

You’re still disgusting though. **: You [11:51 PM]**

 **[11:52 PM] Miya :** thank u omi-omi !!! 

**[11:53 PM] Miya :** i will politely ignore u calling me disgusting bc u saved my life 

**[11:53 PM] Miya :** and bc im nice 

**[11:54 PM] Miya :** n also bc ure stuck w me 4eva <3

The heart. The text. The heart. What. The. Fuck. No, it didn’t mean anything serious. Miya was a flirt, this was not something to get flustered over. This definitely wasn’t something to get flustered over. Why was his face heating up? What was he supposed to respond with? Should he ask Motoya? 

No. No. No. Nope. No asking. He could handle this himself. End the conversation. Easy peasy. Leaving him on read was what he would be expecting 

Goodnight, Miya. **: You [11:59 PM]**

He put the phone away, back on its spot on the bedside table, and buried his face into the pillow. Ignoring the message notification that came right after, he closed his eyes and forced himself to fall asleep by pushing all thoughts of a certain platinum blond setter with questionable habits out of his mind. 

_This was starting to become a frequent occurrence_. It was the last coherent thought in his head before he drifted off to sleep. 

  
  


* * *

“Miya-senshuu!! Could you sign this?” 

“Hinata-senshuu!! Your last play was amazing!” 

“BOKUTO BEAM!”

“Miya-senshuu!!! Can I take a picture with you?” 

“Sakusa-senshuu, could you please sign my bag?” 

“Huh?” Kiyoomi asked as he blinked, looking at the person in front of him. She was tiny, but then most people were when you stood at 6’4. She held out her backpack towards him, an expectant glint in her eyes as she waited for him to sign it. “Oh, sure.” 

They had won the match against the Falcons, played out to a full five sets with neither side backing down. It was a satisfying way to start the season even if it left him feeling listless. The screams from the fans and being in proximity with so many people albeit separated by barriers were not helping him one bit. He looked to the side. How much longer till he could leave? 

The screams had gotten stronger now and Kiyoomi whipped his head up in their direction. There were some fans clamoring for his attention but at the moment most of them were looking — _yelling_ — at someone else. 

“MIYA-SENSHUU!!!” 

“MIYA!!!” 

Before Kiyoomi could process Miya’s presence besides him, he felt him firmly grip his shoulder. He waved at the fans, nodding at them and smiling around the marker cap that was precariously balanced in the clutches of his teeth. Kiyoomi wondered how often Miya had practiced in front of a mirror, figuring out the perfect angle, the right spot for the cap to be placed, for it to have the effect that it did. How many hours had been spent trying to make it seem as if he had put in as bare minimum effort as possible?

“Do I have ink on my face?” 

It’s whispered softly enough, the words still audible despite the noise and the object in his mouth. Kiyoomi’s gaze darted to Miya’s eyes before falling right back to his mouth. He was rather close, his arm warm against Kiyoomi’s back as the hold he had on him seemed to pull Kiyoomi against him. Flashes went off as the fans snapped pictures on their phones. Kiyoomi didn’t care, he just wanted to go back to the hotel. Miya was capable of supporting both of their weights, wasn’t he? If he couldn't go back to the hotel then he might as well melt right here. Oh, Miya was still expecting him to answer. What was it that he asked him again? “Eh?” 

“Yer starin’.” 

“Hmm, tired.” 

Miya studied him for a bit, a slight knit to his brows. He appeared to have come to a decision because the next moment the marker he’d been holding got its cap back, an accomplishment considering how he hadn’t smeared his face with ink. 

Miya tightened the grip on his shoulder as he turned his attention back to the fans, a radiant smile on his face. “Thank you so much for comin’ out today and supportin’ us! We’d love to stay and interact with each and every one of ya but unfortunately, Omi-Omi is drained so we’ll be takin’ our leave! Gotta get this poor sap back to his bed,” he winked at the crowd as if letting them in on a secret. 

Kiyoomi glared at him and Miya smiled, his arm finding itself comfortable around Kiyoomi’s shoulders as he steered him away.

“Let’s get ya back, yeah.” 

  
  


He had collapsed on the bed the moment he had stepped foot into his room, promptly passing out for the next three hours. It was a good thing the match had been scheduled at one of the earlier slots of the day even if it meant he’d just fucked up his sleep schedule once again. 

It was a quarter to eleven when Kiyoomi finally woke up way less lethargic than he’d been but now extremely hungry. He sighed, pushing himself off the bed, a note of distaste at the realization that he hadn’t bothered changing before falling asleep. 

As he headed to the bathroom to freshen up, he glanced at the notifications on his phone. Most of the team had gone out to celebrate, they weren’t going to be back anytime soon. Komori had sent him a congratulatory message for their win along with the promise of taking them down. Suna told him ‘to enjoy the feeling of victory while it lasts’ because EJP would be the ones putting MSBY in their place soon. 

An hour and twenty minutes later, Kiyoomi was once again seated in bed, back propped up against the pillows. He wasn’t one to eat while he was in bed but this time was an exception. He’d clean up when he was done anyway. It helped that it wasn’t his actual bed but the other unoccupied twin bed in his room. Luckily, they weren’t asked to room with each other this time. 

_“Despite the bad blood, I’ll have none of it on my carpet.”_

His laptop was open in front of him, streaming the latest show he’d been hooked on, Peaky Blinders. Room service was truly a blessing, he mused as he took a bite of his kebab. 

_“Those bastards out there are her family. And if you fuckers do anything to embarrass her…”_

**_Beep. Tzzing._ **

Kiyoomi reached out for his phone, eyes still glued to Tommy Shelby in his navy blue three-piece suit on his screen. It took him three unsuccessful attempts before he realized he was using the wrong finger to unlock his phone using the fingerprint scanner. 

_“...your kin, your cousins, your horses, your fucking kids, you do anything-”_

**[00:09 AM] Miya :** omi u awake?

 **[00:10 AM] Miya :** kinda need a favor lol 

Huh. That was vague. Kiyoomi tapped the touchpad, pausing the episode. 

What is it this time? **: You [00:12 AM]**

Miya seemed to take his time to reply. He finally sent his text the moment Kiyoomi had begun to start debating on pressing play again. 

**[00:15 AM] Miya :** k so im lost n my phones abt to die 

You’re telling me this because? **: You [00:15 AM]**

 **[00:16 AM] Miya :** omi please its fuckin cold 

You want me to come get you. **: You [00:17 AM]**

You could just get a cab. **: You [00:17 AM]**

 **[00:17 AM] Miya :** abt that 

Don’t tell me. **: You [00:17 AM]**

You lost your wallet. **: You [00:18 AM]**

 **[00:18 AM] Miya :** i . no tf 

**[00:18 AM] Miya :** cmon im not that irresponsible 

**[00:19 AM] Miya :** i just forgot to bring it w me thats all 

How’s that any better? **: You [00:19 AM]**

 **[00:19 AM] Miya :** :| 

**[00:19 AM] Miya :** i will get back to u on that

 **[00:20 AM] Miya :** when im not stranded in the Cold 

**[00:20 AM] Miya :** broke n penniless

 **[00:20 AM] Miya :** w my phone on 12% 

**[00:21 AM] Miya :** work w me here omi pls

Isn’t there anyone else you could’ve asked? **: You [00:21 AM]**

Didn’t you go out with the others? **: You [00:21 AM]**

 **[00:23 AM] Miya :** were you busy

Kiyoomi stared at the message. It was hard to tell the intended tone of it from the text, but there was no denying the fact that Miya had dodged the question. 

I was watching something. **: You [00:24 AM]**

 **[00:24 AM] Miya :** oh? what?

Peaky Blinders. **: You [00:24 AM]**

 **[00:25 AM] Miya :** lol i’ve seen that its fuckin wild 

**[00:25 AM] Miya :** where are you in it

You have? **: You [00:25 AM]**

Season 3 Episode 1 **: You [00:25 AM]**

 **[00:26 AM] Miya :** just started?

Yes. **: You [00:26 AM]**

 **[00:26 AM] Miya :** perfect ure not missin much 

**[00:26 AM] Miya :** yet 

**[00:27 AM] Miya :** its just the weddin

 **[00:27 AM] Miya :** so u can come get me 

**[00:28 AM] Miya :** dont make me beg

What does that even mean? **: You [00:28 AM]**

 **[00:28 AM] Miya :** you’ll see 

**[00:29 AM] Miya :** now will u, sakusa kiyoomi, please come get me 

Fine. **: You [00:29 AM]**

Give me your location. **: You [00:29 AM]**

 **[00:30 AM] Miya :** thought u’d never ask !

 **[00:30 AM] Miya :** _shared their location with you_

It took awhile for the map to load, Kiyoomi using that time to cover what was left of his food with the cloche. He closed his laptop, forcing it to enter its sleep mode. He was going to continue watching when he got back. 

By the time he changed into something warmer, the map had finished loading itself on his phone. He squinted at the dot on the screen which was where Miya supposedly was. That was further than he thought he would be. What was he even doing there? How did he get there? 

I’m on my way. **: You [00:29 AM]**

Don’t you dare move. **: You [00:29 AM]**

  
  


“Are you sure you want to stop here?” his Uber driver asked, watching Kiyoomi from his rearview mirror. 

“Yes, please,” Kiyoomi replied. “The fare has been paid.” 

His driver checked for confirmation before giving Kiyoomi a nod of his head along with a wish goodnight. Kiyoomi thanked him as he pushed open the car door and stepped out onto the pavement. His breath turned to mist as he inhaled the cold winter air, slamming the door shut behind him. 

And then his ride pulled away from the curb and Sakusa Kiyoomi was alone at the Osanbashi pier at 1 AM on a Sunday. 

It didn’t take long for him to find Miya. He was leaning against the railing, staring at the waves that lapped at the side of the port. A lone figure bathed in the twinkling fairy lights set up for Christmas, hair a bleached out silver from the full moon in the sky. He didn’t turn to look at Kiyoomi as he approached. 

Kiyoomi stopped beside him, hands tentatively resting on the cold metal as he took in the view. There was something calming yet terrifying about the sea at night. He inhaled, deep and slow, filling his lungs with the smell of saltwater, the smell of the ocean, the unknown. The wind whipped at his curls, ruffled through Miya’s hair. Neither of them spoke. 

There were people singing in the background as they walked past, drunk and happy by the looks of it. Kiyoomi pulled the sleeves of his coat over his hands. 

“‘Samu was scared to tell me that he was going to quit.” 

Miya was still facing ahead, eyes a shade too dark as they remained focused on a point in the distant horizon. His voice was uncharacteristically low, Kiyoomi doubted he would have been able to hear him if he wasn’t this close. 

“Scared that my reaction was goin’ to be exactly what he expected it be.” A humorless laugh as he straightened himself. “He told Sunarin before he told me. He probably wouldn’t have told me at all if he could’ve helped it. He knew that I would be against it, that I’d tell him he was wastin’ his skills, that he was bein’ a useless piece of shit by not goin’ pro.” 

Another laugh tore itself out of his throat. This one, bitter. Kiyoomi waited. 

“And of course, he was right because I flipped.” A pause as Miya let out a shaky exhale. “I flipped and told him he wasn’t goin’ to be successful. He came up to me and told me about his dream and I belittled it.” 

Kiyoomi’s gaze fell to where Miya was gripping the railing, his knuckles white from the intensity. Kiyoomi wanted to reach out, to cover his hand with his own, to tell him that Osamu knew that there was no one more supportive of him than his brother and that was what mattered most. But Kiyoomi did neither of those things. Miya wasn’t looking for reassurance. 

“Do you remember when we fought in our third year?” Miya asked, finally turning to look at him. 

“Nah, of course, ya don’t. Ya probably didn’t think much of it back then, you were just speakin’ yer mind.” 

It wasn’t spoken with the intent to offend but Kiyoomi couldn’t stop himself from frowning. 

“I say fought but it was another petty argument that’d just gotten a little out of hand. You said somethin’ along the lines of ‘Samu quittin’ was tragic because he would’ve been a much better pro athlete than me. You said it in the heat of the moment, you didn’t know why he was quittin’, just that he was. Thinkin’ back you probably meant in terms of handlin’ press and playin’ nice with the team. But naturally, because I’m me, I overthought it. For weeks, by the way, until I warped up whatever you originally meant and concluded that you were dissin’ on ‘Samu.”

Miya laughed again. This time there was humor scattered through it, self-deprecating but humor nonetheless.

“Though now I know, you’d be the last person to comment on what someone would want to do.”

It was an apology, a shred of his pride and a chunk of his ego; a piece of himself, all wrapped up with a bow on top, just for Kiyoomi. Miya had said what he wanted to say, how Kiyoomi was to perceive it was up to him. 

Miya had bared a part of himself to him and it was only fair if Kiyoomi returned the favor. He took a deep breath to steady his thoughts as he focused on the sound of waves as they gently crashed against the dock. 

“It’s not extreme you know,” he began and regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. It wasn’t a profound admission of a past... error, but it was still a part of him. “Not as much as they make it out to be. I just don’t like germs and I don’t like being touched by people I’m not comfortable with.” 

“Yer just dramatic. I know.” 

Kiyoomi stared at him, eyes widening as he did because the only other person who understood without him explicitly saying it was Komori Motoya. A huff of breath turned into short bursts of laughter as Kiyoomi tried to catch his breath. He could feel Miya’s gaze on him, expression unreadable in the moonlight. 

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi apologized, somehow feeling the need to despite the ghost of a smile still present on his face. “I wasn’t expecting that. Dramatic is definitely a way to put it, but yes.” 

“I meant what I said back at the Ritz,” Miya said. He cleared his throat before continuing, “Yer fine just as you are. That’s yer normal and that’s perfectly fine. Normal is relative anyway.” 

Warmth sparked itself inside of Kiyoomi’s chest, steadily growing stronger despite the cold. He found himself tucking the looser stands of his curls behind his ear, hand involuntarily moving on its own, the movement almost reminiscent of a flustered highschool girl. He swallowed around the sudden dryness in his throat. “Thank you.” A split-second decision. “Atsumu.” 

  
  


They decided to walk back, all the way from the port to their hotel. 

“It’ll take us over an hour.” 

“That’s perfectly fine Omi. We gotta appreciate the Christmas set up while we can. What better way to do it by walkin’ through it at 3 AM?” 

“The bus leaves at 8 AM.”

“That’s 5 hours from now,” Miya flashed him a smile as radiant as the decoration lights as he turned to look back at Kiyoomi who was trailing behind him. “We’ve got time.” 

Miya never offered how he ended up at the port and Kiyoomi didn’t ask. 

  
  


“I told you we shouldn’t have walked.” 

“Hmm,” Miya hummed, before breaking out into another yawn. “My bad.”

They were sitting side by side on the bus, heading back to Osaka. Kiyoomi had fallen asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Luckily, he managed to wake up just in time unlike Miya who was nearly five minutes late because naturally, he had overslept. And here he was on the verge of passing out again. Kiyoomi studied him, “When did you sleep?” 

“Uh, six,” Miya replied sheepishly. 

“The fuck?” 

“Omi, I can explain,” Miya defended himself, raising his hands up in an attempt to placate Kiyoomi. “I had to call ‘Samu back and he yelled my ear off.” 

“Wasn’t he at the game yesterday?” Kiyoomi asked in confusion because Osamu had always had his stall set up at every single one of his brother’s games so far. 

“He was.”

There was a finality to his voice that implied that the conversation was over. Kiyoomi decided he was better off not having to deal with a cranky sleep deprived Miya at eight in the morning and so he filed the rest of his questions away for later. 

“You should get some sleep,” was what he said instead. “It’s a long ride.” 

“What’re ya gonna do?” 

“There’s a game I’ve been meaning to try out.” 

“Hmm. Sounds nice,” Miya mumbled as he tried to settle comfortably into his seat. 

Kiyoomi watched him out of the corner of his eye as he waited for the game to load on his phone. That did not look like an agreeable to sleep in, Miya was going to end up with neck pains instead of revitalizing his energy. They were going straight to practice after they reached, two solid hours of drills and what not. 

It did not help that Kiyoomi had bagged the window seat, leaving Miya to sit beside the aisle. There was an option, one that the more Kiyoomi thought about he didn’t think he’d mind. It was with this deliberate consideration that he spoke, the words catching themselves in his throat. 

“You could sleep on my shoulder.” 

Miya didn’t reply right away and Kiyoomi wondered whether he had heard him at all. Which was just as well, he could pretend he’d never spoken and this would be overlooked and buried away, erased from existence. 

“Huh?” 

No, of course, Miya had to have excellent hearing. 

“Shoulder,” Kiyoomi repeated stupidly, refusing to look away from his phone. He wished he could stop his face from heating up as he tried to clarify what he meant, forcing the words out in a rush. “It’d be better for you— your neck if you let your head rest on something that’d help make it a more comfortable position to sleep in. And since you don’t have a neck pillow—”

“Omi,” Miya called, cutting him off. “Are ya sure yer okay with it?” 

“I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t.” The rebuttal came quickly as he whipped his head to scowl at Miya. 

“Fair point.” 

“Just don’t drool.” 

Miya offered him a tired smile. “Can’t exactly promise that, Omi.”

“I will push you off. I’m serious.” 

“Yeah, no, please don’t do that,” Miya winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear I won’t drool on ya.” 

“Good,” Kiyoomi muttered as he turned his attention back to his phone. He had played a bit of it before, stopping the moment he had crossed the introductory part of the game. The controls were simple enough though it would take a while to get used to them. It was when he was collecting the daily login bonus of the day that Miya finally chose to rest his head against his shoulder. 

The placement was stiff as if he was ready to pull away at any given notice. It did not help that Kiyoomi found himself tensing under his touch, because despite all of his calculations he had failed to consider the close proximity between them and the way Miya’s hair would feel against his skin. 

“I could—,” Miya began to say, lifting his head up to move away but Kiyoomi interjected before he could. 

“It’s fine. I’ll get used to it.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

As Miya settled himself snugly against him, this time with a lot more confidence, Kiyoomi forced himself to relax and focus on the game instead of how Miya’s platinum blond hair tickled his chin. 

“Whatcha playin’?” Miya whispered. Kiyoomi didn’t have to look at him to know that his eyes were already drooping shut. 

“Genshin.”

“S’cool,” Miya replied, the words blurring together as he yawned. His fingers instinctively grabbed hold of the sleeve of Kiyoomi’s jacket. Kiyoomi didn’t push him away. 

“Sleep. I’ll wake you when we reach.” 

* * *

Between intensive practice and away games, fan meets, press interviews on the weekends, Kiyoomi barely had the time or energy to catch up with the shows he had been watching. Nearly everyday ended with him collapsing on the bed the moment he was within 10 feet of it or by playing Genshin Impact until he could no longer focus on the controls and more often than not ended up drowning or falling off a cliff. 

And that was why it was precisely over two weeks later he found himself scrambling for his phone, hands shaking as he tried to find his messages with Miya. 

SHE DIED ????? **: You [11:12 PM]**

GRACE **: You [11:12 PM]**

THEY JUST **: You [11:12 PM]**

MARRIED LAST EP **: You [11:12 PM]**

???????? **: You [11:12 PM]**

IN HIS ARMS **: You [11:13 PM]**

THEY WERE KISSING **: You [11:13 PM]**

5 SECONDS AGO **: You [11:13 PM]**

 **[11:14 PM] Miya :** lol i was wonderin whether you crossed that part yet

THEY SHOT HER **: You [11:14 PM]**

 **[11:14 PM] Miya :** yea lmaoo 

**[11:15 PM] Miya :** i still have no idea how long they were married 

HE WAS JUST KISSING HER . THEY **: You [11:15 PM]**

 **[11:15 PM] Miya :** ah to be married to the love of ur life for only two eps 

**[11:15 PM] Miya :** and to die in their arms as they hold you close

**. : You [11:16 PM]**

She is fucking dead. **: You [11:16 PM]**

 **[11:16 PM] Miya :** keep watchin 

**[11:16 PM] Miya :** it gets worse :D

THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN WORSE **: You [11:17 PM]**

 **[11:17 PM] Miya :** ur on the third season 

**[11:17 PM] Miya :** how do u still have ur hopes up 

Y’know what? **: You [11:17 PM]**

Fuck you. **: You [11:17 PM]**

And the duchess. **: You [11:18 PM]**

Fuck her too. **: You [11:18 PM]**

I hope she dies. **: You [11:18 PM]**

 **[11:18 PM] Miya :** ah. 

**[11:19 PM] Miya :** that sure is a swift judgement

 **[11:19 PM] Miya :** are ya gonna continue watchin it rn? 

Yes. **: You [11:19 PM]**

 **[11:19 PM] Miya :** good luck omi :)

She is fucking unhinged. **: You [01:07 AM]**

Can he please stop going to her. **: You [01:07 AM]**

 **[01:09 AM] Miya :** now now omi

 **[01:10 AM] Miya :** dont judge a man by his copin mechanisms

 **[01:10 AM] Miya :** hes goin thru it 

Look. **: You [01:10 AM]**

I no longer give a fuck if she dies or not **: You [01:11 AM]**

Just **: You [01:11 AM]**

Can Tommy please stop putting his dick in her **: You [01:11 AM]**

 **[01:12 AM] Miya :** HELP#$%*#($*)(@*(

 **[01:12 AM] Miya :** FUCKFJ BYE

 **[01:12 AM] Miya :** NO BC IM LITERALLY BUSTIN A LUNG OVER THIS 

I’M BEING SERIOUS HE NEEDS TO STOP **: You [01:13 AM]**

 **[01:13 AM] Miya :** JUST KEEP WATCHING 

**[01:37 AM] Miya :** which part are you on

 **[01:37 AM] Miya :** kinda feel like rewatchin 

**[01:38 AM] Miya :** but not from the start

Miya. **: You [01:42 AM]**

 **[01:43 AM] Miya :** yea?

I think she’s giving him a handjob. **: You [01:44 AM]**

Tommy’s watching his brother get a handjob. **: You [01:44 AM]**

How tf is this ???? Examination ???? **: You [01:44 AM]**

 **[01:45 AM] Miya :** ah i know exactly where you are

 **[01:45 AM] Miya :** theyre fuckin crazy 

**[01:45 AM] Miya :** what did u expect

Miya. **: You [01:56 AM]**

 **[01:57 AM] Miya :** it gets worse trust me

How does it get worse than an orgy? **: You [01:57 AM]**

 **[01:57 AM] Miya :** :)

That man in the back has been getting a bj for the past hour. **: You [02:13 AM]**

 **[02:14 AM] Miya :** now why tf is that what u focus on

He’s in the frame? **: You [02:14 AM]**

 **[02:15 AM] Miya :**.

What the fuck. **: You [02:27 AM]**

 **[02:27 AM] Miya :** i told u it was gonna get worse :D

This bitch just ??? **: You [02:27 AM]**

She needs help. **: You [02:27 AM]**

And the way he actually **: You [02:28 AM]**

He thought it was . Grace. **: You [02:28 AM]**

 **[02:28 AM] Miya :** he did love her 

**[02:29 AM] Miya :** ngl that bit broke me 

**[02:29 AM] Miya :** i think i cried the first time i watched it 

You cry over any and every thing that’s mildly emotional. **: You [02:30 AM]**

 **[02:30 AM] Miya :** that is not true. 

You cried while watching Frozen. **: You [02:30 AM]**

 **[02:30 AM] Miya :** OK AND ?????

 **[02:31 AM] Miya :** SAMU CRIED TOO YKNOW 

Of course, he would. **: You [02:31 AM]**

You’re both cut from the same cloth. **: You [02:31 AM]**

 **[02:31 AM] Miya :** MF

 **[02:31 AM] Miya :** URE NO BETTER 

**[02:32 AM] Miya :** U CRIED OVER TONY STARK 

At least I didn’t spam Insta with videos of it **: You [02:32 AM]**

Unlike a certain someone **: You [02:32 AM]**

 **[02:33 AM] Miya :** FUCK 

**[02:33 AM] Miya :** AND I CAN’T STRESS THIS ENOUGH

 **[02:33 AM] Miya :** YOU

If you’re lucky. **: You [02:34 AM]**

Goodnight, Miya. **: You [02:34 AM]**

With a stupid smirk tugging at the edge of his lips, Kiyoomi put his phone away, shut his laptop, and retired for the night. He’d perhaps come to regret his actions later. But for now, he had the last word and that was what mattered. 

  
  


There was an undeniable shift in their dynamic. One that wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone else who wasn’t paying close attention to their relationship. Or that was what Kiyoomi told himself. Maybe he was just overthinking things again but one look at how Miya had begun to entwine himself into his routines was enough to know that this time he wasn’t. 

Komori had somehow managed to pick up on it despite sporadic communication between them due to their clashing schedules. 

“So, how’s everything with Miya?” Komori asked. Kiyoomi could hear his team in the background. 

“Don’t you have practice?” 

“In a bit,” Komori answered. “Don’t change the subject. I feel like I haven’t heard you complain about him in a while.” 

Kiyoomi pouted, momentarily forgetting that Komori couldn’t see him right now. “We’ve been busy. There’s only so much time we have to ourselves when we’re doing our best to maintain our streak of being undefeated in the League.” 

_We text every day_ , was what he didn’t tell him. _We have made a habit of watching things together_ , was what he didn’t tell him. _Ending the day by bidding him goodnight was starting to become a habit_ , was what he didn’t tell him. 

Komori didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Kiyoomi could tell he was giving him his infamous knowing smirk through the static. 

  
  


As expected, MSBY Black Jackal emerged victorious, stealing the crown for the second time in a row and marking themselves as the reigning champions. 

That didn’t mean Kiyoomi could sit back and relax just yet. 

They had a ‘well-deserved’ two weeks off before the selected candidates had to pack their bags for the Team Japan training camp taking place in Tokyo. 

Kiyoomi hadn’t gotten around to packing his things up. He’d get to it. Later. He wasn’t known for procrastinating. In fact, it was something he was rarely prone to do unless something else came up that warranted a higher priority. Like now, for example, he had a little over a week left to pack but barely four days left before the current banner would end and the next one would take its place. And he only had three thousand _primogems_ saved up. That was hardly enough for two 10 x wishes. 

He needed way more. He had to get Zhongli on his team. It was with some luck that he had managed to complete Tartaglia’s constellation. He didn’t think the game would continue being this nice to him. 

Now, all he needed to do was succeed in his mission in hitting his goal of being a thousand _primogems_ richer by the end of the day. So far, he was 700 behind his goal. This should hopefully make him cross halfway—.

His phone buzzed beside him, breaking Kiyoomi’s concentration. He had been trying to aim at the Ruin Guard but now the arrow went wide missing the target completely. Kiyoomi frowned at the screen, a growl of frustration low in his throat. He paused the game by opening up the menu before grabbing his phone. 

**New messages from Miya (6)**

What now? 

**[12:43 PM] Miya :** omi 

**[12:43 PM] Miya :** this is serious

 **[12:43 PM] Miya :** way more than the pizza thing

 **[12:43 PM] Miya :** i need your opinion on smth 

**[12:44 PM] Miya :** i swear this is important 

**[12:44 PM] Miya :** pls pls pls pls omi i need u 

What is it now? **: You [12:45 PM]**

This better be worth it Miya. **: You [12:45 PM]**

Miya, once again, seemed to take his sweet time to reply. With each second Kiyoomi spent waiting, he could feel his annoyance increase. 

**[12:51 PM] Miya :** fuck

Kiyoomi stared at his screen, at a loss for words. He did not spend 6 minutes waiting for Miya to explain only to get sent a 4 letter long profanity.

**[12:52 PM] Miya :** its embarrassing 

**[12:52 PM] Miya :** i cant type this out 

**[12:52 PM] Miya :** fuck im callin u 

True to his word, Kiyoomi’s screen flashed fifteen seconds later with Miya’s caller id across his screen… and his own face staring back at him in confusion. Did whatever Miya had a problem with really warrant a Facetime? 

In what he considered was a profound lack of better judgment, Kiyoomi accepted the call. 

The moment the call connected, Miya’s face showed up on his screen looking distraught. His eyebrows were furrowed as he ran a hand through his hair, frowning at a point beyond his phone. From the look of it, he seemed to be seated at the dining table at his house. Kiyoomi remembered seeing the painting that hung behind him in the backdrop from the time he’d visited once. His expression lightened up a bit the moment he saw Kiyoomi’s face. 

“Omi-kun!” 

There were other voices in the background too, belonging to Suna and Osamu if Kiyoomi had to guess. 

“What’s this about?” he asked, trying to keep the irritation from showing on his face. 

“Listen, I need ya to settle this for me,” Miya told him. 

Except at that moment, the phone seemed to be snatched out of his grasp and Suna was peering at him instead in all his pixelated blurred glory as shouts rose up behind him. 

“No way, this bitch actually called you! Hi Sakusa-kun.” 

“SUNARIN THE FUCK? GIVE ME MY PHONE BACK.” 

There was the audible ruckus of Suna and Miya grappling each other, their faces blurring in and out of focus as they fought. Kiyoomi sighed as he wistfully glanced at his laptop. This was going to take a while.

“IF EITHER OF YA BREAK ANYTHING YER BOTH PAYING FER IT. Y’ALL JUST A BUNCH OF FUCKIN’ FREELOADERS.” 

“SUNA STOLE MY PHONE.” 

“SHUT UP ‘TSUMU.” 

“You know if you bought your own food, we wouldn’t be here.” 

“It was fuckin’ peanut butter, you jerk! As if you’ve ever paid fer shit.”

“I don’t even— OUCH. DID YOU JUST BITE ME? OSAMU YOUR BROTHER FUCKING BIT ME.” 

Miya had somehow emerged victorious, his face taking up the screen as he grinned. “Sorry about that Omi! Now, where was I?” 

“Miya, make it quick. I was busy.” 

“No, ya aren’t. Yer just playin’ Genshin. It says so on yer profile on Discord.” 

“Make it quick, Miya,” Kiyoomi grit out. 

Miya winced, giving him a sheepish smile. “Okay look, I just need ya to tell me if I’m bein’ an asshole about this one thing.” 

“You are,” Suna and Osamu yelled from across the room in unison. 

“Shut the fuck up! I’m askin’ Omi,” Miya shouted before turning his attention back to him. “Okay so,” Miya started. He took a deep breath before launching into his explanation with seriousness, befitting one of the royal courts, “I was hungry and wanted to eat a sandwich but I was out of peanut butter so I opened Samu's cupboard and took his. But then Samu comes in and sees what I’m doin’ and snatches the peanut butter AND my sandwich. And then he accused me of stealin’.”

“You just said you took his peanut butter.” 

“Well yea, I was out. No wait, that’s not the point. I’m not done. He was makin’ a big deal about it like bro it's just peanut butter. And okay, okay, long story short, they finally tell me they’ve been usin’ the peanut butter… for… for… Fuck, I can’t say it.” 

“Miya.” 

Miya pouted at him, cheeks tinted pink in flustered embarrassment. “Do I really gotta say it?” 

Kiyoomi gave him a pointed look. _This was your idea._

Miya sighed, though it sounded a lot more like a whine. “They were usin’ it in the bedroom,” he stage whispered. 

Miya was looking at him expectantly as if waiting for his grand reaction, but in all honesty, Kiyoomi didn’t think what Osamu and Suna did in the bedroom with their jar of peanut butter was any of his business. Miya seemed to disagree. 

“You don’t understand!” Miya cried in anguish, fingers tugging at his hair. “Suna stuck his dick in the bottle!” 

That was… knowledge Kiyoomi never wanted to have. He wanted to play Genshin Impact not discuss Miya’s brother’s sex life. “It’s their jar of peanut butter, whatever they choose to do with it is up to them.” 

“BUT WHY WOULD THEY PUT THAT JAR BACK IN THE FUCKIN’ KITCHEN? I WAS ABOUT TO EAT IT, OMI.” 

“He probably wasn’t expecting you to touch it. Didn’t you say it was on his side?” 

“Yea, we divided it,” Miya supplied in a tone that clearly said he did not understand how this was relevant. “He’s not supposed to touch my side and I stay out of his.”

Kiyoomi took a deep breath as he rubbed at his temples. “Maybe you should stick to that rule.” 

“Omi, you can’t be sidin’ with them here. C’mon yer supposed to be on my side!” 

“Have a nice day, Miya.” 

Kiyoomi disconnected the call and rested his forehead on the counter. He wondered if this knowledge was going to affect the way he interacted with Suna and Osamu. Probably not. Probably would. It wasn’t exactly unexpected if he thought about it. He did not want to think about it though. 

Oh, how he’d give anything to delete the last 30 minutes from his mind. 

His phone buzzed again, the vibrations of it louder than it had any right to be. Kiyoomi turned his head to the side so that his cheek was resting against the cold marble as he lifted the phone up to squint at the screen. If it was Miya again, he’d switch off his phone. He really did not want to be dealing with any more of—.

Kiyoomi’s train of thought came to a standstill. Suddenly, the room felt 10 degrees colder as he read the name on his screen over and over again. 

Out of all the possibilities he had considered, this had been one of them. However, there was a difference between hypothesizing and seeing something in the flesh. He had hoped it wouldn’t come to this even if the probability had been pretty high. 

His parents hadn’t contacted him since the dinner so, it was only natural either of them would reach out instead on their command. He had ‘disrespected’ his parents back then but god forbid he missed the yearly Sakusa Getaway™. That would have been considered a bigger slight. 

Kiyoomi sat up and unlocked his phone. He was definitely going to need Komori’s input on how to handle this but for now… For now, he’d be able to do it himself. 

**[01:45 PM] Brother :** Hey Kiyo! It’s been a while since we caught up, yeah?

 **[01:47 PM] Brother :** Congratulations on the win, by the way. 

Kiyoomi began to type his response. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY THIS WAS PROLLY THE LAST THING YOU WERE EXPECTING OVER THE CHANGE IN RATING ??? IM SORRY 
> 
> also the peanut butter thing is based off of an actual am i the asshole post but . they ate the peanut butter sandwich . before they found out . yea 
> 
> also updates ?? might be a little more slower because while i am a third yr uni student w zero time on my hands n procrastinate a lot anyway i . have also joined hqbb n ossn exchange so lol i dont think things thru but yea you can look forward to those if you want 
> 
> thank you sooooo much for reading i rlly rlly rlly appreciate it i hope yall are having a good day/night n are safe n sound !!! good luck w online classes n exams if you have them good luck w your jobs if you have one !! 
> 
> as usual lemme know what you think lol (i swear next chaps gonna be cooler this one might've ended up as stress relief) and if you want a spam of every single frame of the baby miya twins from this weeks ep then here's my [twt](https://twitter.com/inrizaki)


	6. actually chap 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: estranged siblings, olympics, bars, mild jealousy, magazine interviews, after parties, implied sexual content, unwarranted angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this 14k monstrosity is dedicated to me because holyshit this was a struggle n a hot mess but it is my birth so therefore this is my gift to myself lol was originally gonna drop it on new years but then i . didn't finish it by then so here it is 
> 
> happy birthday ao3 user starkartifices thank you ao3 user starkartifices
> 
> we'll ignore the fact that im a whole day late for my own gift <3 
> 
> so yea this took forever my bad lost my sanity in the process (kinda this chap might be inconsistent ? idk probably just me) also is it too late to ask yall to not perceive me from this lol

Kiyoomi stared at the doorbell in anguish while the doorbell in return continued to taunt him. There were multiple reasons why this was in fact a bad idea, a terrible one. In a lot of ways that objectively didn’t make any sense, it felt like he was crossing a line. Which was stupid, remarkably stupid, because he _had_ stepped foot inside the Miya household before. 

But then, there had been other people besides the twins and Suna Rintarou. 

He glanced at his watch. Fifteen minutes to noon. If he wanted to leave, this was his moment. 

Send a text saying something came up, he wouldn’t be able to make it. Simple. His gaze darted between the eyehole under the engraved flat number on the door and the buzzer. 

Kiyoomi took a deep breath, composing himself, and pressed the doorbell, resigning his fate. 

He barely had time to regret his decision when the door opened, revealing none other than Miya Atsumu dressed in an oversized hoodie and lounge shorts. It’d been nearly two weeks since he had last seen him in person. Kiyoomi thought he was imagining the way Miya’s mouth curved into a frown as he laid eyes on him. For the life of him, he couldn’t guess what was going through Miya’s head. 

“Huh.” He leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms over his chest as he observed Kiyoomi. “Ya didn’t tell me you were droppin’ by.”

Kiyoomi blinked. Did Suna not tell him? “I thought you knew.” 

He raised an eyebrow as he squinted at him as if trying to process what he’d just said. “And I would’ve known that because...?”

Before Kiyoomi could reply, Osamu’s voice rang out from inside the flat. “‘Tsumu, who is it?” 

“It’s just Omi-kun!” Miya yelled back, not taking his eyes off of Kiyoomi, the frown still ever-present on his face. Kiyoomi drove his hands deeper into his coat as he peered down at Miya in whatever childish excuse of a staring contest this had ended up in. 

The doorway opened wider as another figure appeared and draped his arm around Miya’s shoulders, startling them. Suna, unaware of the truce he had caused, grinned at him, “Sakusa-kun! You made it!” 

“I did,” Kiyoomi told him, the words getting lost in the commotion of Miya pushing Suna off. 

“Ya knew he was comin’?” he asked, skeptical. 

“I asked him to,” Suna told him, resting his elbow on his shoulder instead. “And you’re being a terrible host, Atsumu. You didn’t even let him in.” 

Miya turned his gaze back to Kiyoomi, looking him over before sighing and heading inside. Suna didn’t seem bothered as he turned his attention back to Kiyoomi with a smile gracing his features. “Don’t mind him, he’s cranky. He just woke up from a nap.” 

There was a certain amount of ominousness in the statement, paired with the smirk that was more prone to being seen on the twins’ faces, that Kiyoomi decided he was better off not dissecting. “I see.” 

“Well,” Suna said, stepping back to let Kiyoomi enter, “nevermind him. You’ve arrived just in time.” He held his hand out to take Kiyoomi’s coat from him, hanging it on the coat rack for him. “Osamu’s nearly done with the cooking.” 

The Miya household—or more accurately, Osamu’s duplex—was a homely and well lived-in space. Despite the spaciousness, it looked cozy and warm, making Kiyoomi feel like he was trespassing on something not meant for him. It was smaller in comparison to Kiyoomi’s penthouse, even more so than it was because of how cluttered the place was. Kiyoomi thought it added more character to the place as he eyed the gaming controllers still left on the sofa, though it could do with being less of a mess. 

Miya was leaning against the island table as he watched his brother cook, pouting about something that Kiyoomi didn’t hear the start of. “—said Aran-kun was comin’.” 

“I said no such thing,” Osamu replied without looking at him. 

Miya opened his mouth to argue but Osamu cut him off before he could, “I said someone was comin’. I didn’t say who. And did you really think he’d leave Kita-san’s place any sooner than he has ta? He’s already gonna be stuck dealin’ with you soon enough. Let the man have some peace.” 

“But-” 

“No buts,” he said, whacking his brother on the head with a clean spatula before turning his attention to Kiyoomi. He smiled at him, the gesture warm and trusting, nothing like the look of disappointment he had thrown at Miya. “Sakusa-kun! I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Thank you for inviting me,” Kiyoomi greeted in return, eyes lingering on the vinyl gloves he was wearing. 

Osamu noticed his gaze and looked down at his hands, expression mildly sheepish. “Ah, I knew ya don’t like eatin’ food touched by people so….”

At some point, unnoticed to them, Suna had slunk into the kitchen and was now wrapping his arms around Osamu, hooking his chin over his shoulder. Miya made a disgruntled sound at the sight of them. Suna stuck his tongue out at him. 

“Oh, by the way, we asked Komori about what ya usually like to eat,” Osamu continued with a wink as he pulled a bowl towards him.

Kiyoomi stilled, the tips of his ears burning. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense,” Suna waved his concerns off, “It’s not that big of a deal anyway. ‘Samu’s a chef after all and a damn good one too.” 

Osamu ducked his head, jabbing his elbow into Suna’s side, making him wince. “It’s no big deal,” Osamu clarified, clearing his throat. “Plus it wouldn’t be a proper send-off if I didn’t.” 

“Since when did ya get so sappy?” Miya asked, moving to stand near Kiyoomi. 

“Since I’ll finally get to have my own house to myself. Don’t be fooled, this is a celebratory lunch.” 

“Is that so?” Suna raised an eyebrow before leaning forward to whisper something directly into Osamu’s ear. 

A blush crept up long Osamu’s neck as he turned his head away from Suna, causing him to laugh. Miya gagged at the display and tugged on Kiyoomi’s forearm. “C’mon, I’ll take you to my room.” 

  
  


Miya’s room was… organized. The walls were painted a shade navy blue, a stark contrast to the white and black furniture the room seemed to sport. There was a white desk taking up an entire wall, shelves lined with books and figurines—ranging from Nendoroids to Funko Pops to the more accurately scaled ones—taking up the other, and sliding french doors that lead to his balcony. His bed occupied the middle of the room, currently undone with various plushies— _did Miya sleep with them?_ —scattered on it and the covers half falling to the floor. 

“Is that a Star Wars bed sheet?” he asked, eyeing the Deathstar printed on it as Miya dashed forward to pick the covers off of the floor. 

“What about it?” Miya asked defensively, plopping down on the edge of the bed. 

“I think it’s neat,” Kiyoomi told him, leaning against the desk. He tilted his head towards the shelves, “Are you a collector?”

Miya laughed, rubbing at his eyes. He looked tired. “In a way, yeah. Most of its jus’ impulsive purchases.” 

“Hmm.” Kiyoomi had done his fair share of impulsive purchases when he was still in university. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t come to regret a couple of them. He’d be lying even more if he said that the entire ordeal hadn’t been spurred on by spite, brought on by none other than his brother. Said brother he still had to confirm plans with during his stay in Tokyo. Kiyoomi did not want to be seeing him any sooner than he had to. 

This wasn’t good, he shouldn’t be thinking about this right now.

“So…,” Kiyoomi spoke, breaking the silence that had set in. There were certain things he had wanted to discuss with the other, but he wasn’t sure if now was a good time. Perhaps it’d be best to keep the conversation light and simple. “Does your brother know about your jersey number?” 

“Not yet,” came the reply as Miya fell backward, head hitting the mattress and throwing an arm over his eyes. His next words were mumbled, spoken more to himself than to Kiyoomi. “I’m not sure if I wanna be around when he sees it.” 

“Why?”

“Cause it's embarrassin’! He's goin’ to tease me about bein’ a sap!”

“You are a sap.”

Miya's rebuttal came in the form of him grabbing his nearest plush and throwing it at him with as much force as he could from his position. Kiyoomi's reflexes kicked in and he caught it before it could actually hit him. A huff of amusement escaped from him as he caught sight of Miya’s pout. 

They lapsed into silence once again, this one was a lot more comfortable. Kiyoomi cradled the plush, Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon, in his arms.

It was unfortunate how he couldn’t just tell his brother that there were restrictions. He was sure there’d be a specific diet he’d have to follow, one even more controlled than his current one. But there was no way that was a valid argument for not being able to meet up with him because, unfortunately, they weren’t going to be confined during their stay. And his brother would easily reply with a dreaded ‘It’s okay, you can just watch me eat.’ No, that most certainly was not okay.

Miya sat up with a sigh, “C'mon, spit it out.”

“Huh?” Kiyoomi stared at him. There was no way he was that obvious, was he? 

“Ya look real sad there, fuming in yer thoughts almost like a puppy that’s been punched.” Miya sat up, leaning back, his hands supporting most of his weight. “Kinda like how ‘Samu gets when he needs to say somethin’.”

“I’d be outraged then not sad.” 

Miya gave him a pointed look. “Figure of speech. Get on with it.” 

“It’s just family drama.” 

A raised eyebrow. “What do they want now?” 

Kiyoomi shifted to pull his phone out of his pocket. “It’d be easier if I showed you.” 

He unlocked the phone and opened the message thread he had with his brother, scrolling all the way up to the top before tossing his phone in Miya’s direction. It landed on the mattress, right beside his hand. Miya’s eyebrow raised even higher as he stared down at the device. His gaze flicked back to meet Kiyoomi’s expectant one, expression unreadable. He finally gave in, shifting his weight to one arm while picking up the phone with the other. 

“Brother,” he read out loud. “Really? That’s what you put as his contact name? What’s Motoya-kun’s? Cousin?” 

“Shut up and read.” 

The silence lasted for a total of 3 seconds before Miya decided to break it by commenting again. 

“Thanks. Which one?” he read, voice flat as he looked at Kiyoomi. “He congratulated ya on a win and you just… wow.” 

Kiyoomi’s ears burned. “That pissed me off.” A beat of silence and in a tone more muted, more to himself than to Miya, “He pisses me off.” 

“Does anyone in yer immediate family not piss you off?” he asked, scanning through the rest of the texts. 

“My sister.” 

“Oh? Umi-chan?” 

“Don’t. Please don’t.” 

Miya scoffed, “I was just testin’ it out. Ya don’t have to look so mortified.” 

“Are you done?” Kiyoomi asked, rubbing at his temples. 

“Nope. Gimme a minute.” 

“Okay done,” Miya declared, sitting up straight and looking a lot more energetic since Kiyoomi had entered his place. “And I guess I’ll be seein’ yer sister real soon then, huh?” 

“You don’t have to force yourself to come if you don’t want to,” Kiyoomi told him, hugging the dragon closer to his chest. “Being in their presence for a whole week can be very strenuous and it would be unfair to subject you to that and I will not hold it against you.” 

When Kiyoomi looked up from the spot he’d been staring at on the floor, Miya was studying him with a contemplative look in his eyes. Kiyoomi did know what to make of it. “How long did ya practice sayin’ that?” 

“You don’t have to force yourself to come,” Kiyoomi repeated, narrowing his eyes at Miya. Didn’t he get it? He was doing him a fucking favor by giving him an out. Nothing was worth spending one whole week being in the vicinity of his family. 

“And miss out on an all-expenses-paid trip to the Maldives?” Miya asked, incredulous. He tipped his head back, an infuriating smirk gracing his face, “Nuh-uh, ya can’t get rid of me that easily Omi.” 

“You’d come with just so you can see the Maldives?” That’s the stupidest reason Kiyoomi’s ever heard of. “You’re willing to put up with all that so you can go sightseeing?”

Miya shrugged, “I’ve never been.” 

“If that’s the issue then I can take you there some other time,” Kiyoomi argued, the words falling out of his mouth before he could process them completely. 

“Really, Omi?” Miya smiled, raised eyebrows, and mischievous glint. “You’d do that? Fer me? Y’know I’ve heard it’s quite the romantic getaway.”

Every coherent thought that was in his head was replaced by white noise, white noise that suspiciously sounded a lot like ‘romantic getaway’ on loop at high frequencies.

“It’s a joke, Omi.” There was something about the lighthearted tone in Miya’s voice that felt forced. 

Miya cleared his throat, changing the subject before Kiyoomi could dwell on it. “Anyway, what does she do again?”

“She's the CEO of one of those, uh, tech companies,” Kiyoomi replied with a wave of his hand, purposefully being vague because the very thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth. That would’ve been him if he went down that path. 

“Lemme guess, Sakusa Enterprises, huh?” 

“No,” Kiyoomi scowled, jaw twitching in an attempt to keep the disdain from his voice. He failed at it. “She has to earn her position. The company won’t be handed down to her until father dearest retires anyway, but even then she has to prove herself being capable. As far as I know, the transfer documents haven’t even been formed yet.” 

“Ah,” Miya nodded as if whatever Kiyoomi said made perfect sense. 

_Or maybe he was just being polite by keeping his thoughts to himself_ , the voice that sounded suspiciously like Komori spoke in Kiyoomi’s head. _Let’s be honest, he probably thinks your whole family is crazy._

(That includes you too, you know.) 

“So, your sister,” Miya began, slightly hesitant. He seemed to be struggling with wording his question. “Isn’t she like...?” 

“29?” Kiyoomi guessed. Miya nodded, humming in affirmation. “Yeah, she is.” 

“And yer brother?”

“Neurosurgeon. New York. 32.” 

“Fuck,” Miya swore, falling back on the bed with a thud. “Yer family’s nuts.” 

Kiyoomi cracked a smile. “Oh yeah, I kno—.” 

‘ _THE UNPLANNED DEVIL SPAWN IS CALLING. THE UNPLANNED DEVIL_ —.’

Miya scrambled for his phone, answering the call and effectively cutting off the alarm blaring ringtone while shooting Kiyoomi a sheepish grin over his shoulder. “Yea, ‘Samu? Oh cool, took ya long enough.” 

“Well, lunch is ready!” Miya declared, turning towards Kiyoomi, gaze still fixed on his phone as he tapped away on it. 

Did he call him just to tell him that? Weren’t they in the same house? Huh. 

  
  


The dining table was set by the time they entered. Osamu was hovering around the table, probably adding some last-minute touches to the dishes was Kiyoomi’s initial thought until he caught sight of Suna with his phone angled towards him. 

Miya scoffed at the display before walking around the table to get to his seat so he could whisper ‘Bad angle’ in Suna’s ear. 

Kiyoomi stood at the edge, once again feeling out of place. It’s not that he had never been around people he was comfortable with, the Komori’s had always treated him as one of their own. Even when he’d been in university, he had people he’d been close to. But here, in the presence of the Miyas and Suna, he felt like an outsider. He wouldn’t have been standing where he was if he hadn’t asked Atsumu to pretend to be his boyfriend. He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t been fueled by spite on that one particular Friday night. 

“Oh, Sakusa-kun,” Osamu called out to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. “The bathroom’s to the right and the soap’s recently been refilled. Got one of those more slightly expensive ones this time ‘nd I gotta say, it smells real nice.” 

If Kiyoomi were a more emotionally attuned person, he would have sobbed. “Thank you, Osamu-san.” 

  
  


The bathroom was acceptably clean, a lot more than what he was expecting considering who lived there. The soap, true to Osamu’s word, smelled nice. Watermelon was a good choice. He splashed some water on his face too for good measure. He took note of the skincare supplies that stood to the side. An impressive collection. He took a deep breath, looked at his reflection in the mirror straight in the eye, and told himself that leaving wasn’t going to solve anything. It wasn’t like Osamu and Suna didn’t know about the arrangements between Atsumu and him.

“You’re being stupid.” 

(I know.) 

  
  


The other three were already seated when he got back, deep in conversation about something Kiyoomi couldn’t fathom. None of them had touched the food. They were waiting for him. Kiyoomi felt his heart constrict a little more. 

“Omi, yer back!” Atsumu got up from his seat as Kiyoomi approached and pulled out Kiyoomi’s chair for him. He didn’t go back to his seat until Kiyoomi sat down. He could feel Osamu and Suna staring at them, Atsumu however remained oblivious. 

They loaded food onto their plates, Osamu dumping extra servings on Kiyoomi’s when it came to the things he’d made specifically for him. “Eat up, Sakusa-kun. Ya won’t be able to have any of this until the Olympics are over, y’know.”

“That’s quite a lot though, Osamu-san.” 

“We can pack up the leftovers for ya, no biggie.” 

The first bite tasted like the childhood home he never had. “I’d like that.” 

Conversation was surprisingly kept to a minimum, filled with appreciative hums while the twins discussed the textures and flavors along with a list of things Osamu should potentially try next. 

It was a couple of minutes later, the exchange having died down, when Suna conspiratorially leaned forward to get Kiyoomi’s attention. The twins, for some inexplicable reason, looked wary of him. 

“So, Sakusa-kun,” he smiled and Kiyoomi felt his defenses involuntarily rise up. Why did he tend to forget that those from Inarizaki were amongst the most dangerous people he’d ever met (save for Aran)? Time seemed to drag out and Kiyoomi got the impression that Suna was enjoying the thrill of keeping him right on the edge. No wonder Komori and him got along splendidly. “Any updates to your kin list?” 

Beside him, Atsumu spat out the water he’d been drinking. 

“We’ve already discussed this,” Kiyoomi replied as if they were talking about a prospective business proposal instead. 

  
  


Dessert came in the form of lemon cheesecake as the discussion shifted towards the upcoming Olympics camp. They had moved from the dining table to lounging around the now cleared sofa, plates in hand. Atsumu sat cross-legged at one end of the sofa while Kiyoomi occupied the other. Osamu had a leg tucked under him as he settled back into the armchair with Suna sitting on the rug at his feet. 

“Nah, Yaku’s the only one from Nekoma,” Atsumu said, twirling his fork in his hand. 

“And it’s just these two from Itachiyama,” Suna added. “Fukurodani, Karasuno, and Kamomedai are in the two gang too.” 

“We get it,” Kiyoomi sighed, “Inarizaki beats them all with three. Congratulations. It still says something about how you couldn’t beat us at Interhigh when Aran-san was still on the team.” 

“Oh fuck you,” Atsumu swore at him while Osamu chuckled. “We got yer ass the next year.” 

“And promptly lost again in the Spring one.” 

“Your team ruthlessly took advantage of our premature brains the first time,” Suna defended. 

“And you should’ve considered not being fairly easy to manipulate,” Kiyoomi countered.

“What the fuck?” Atsumu yelled. “We had a six-point lead!” 

“And you still lost,” Kiyoomi smiled at him, barely able to stifle his laugh at the offended look on Atsumu’s face. 

“C’mon now,” Osamu called out to rein things in control before it could possibly escalate. “Yer all on the same team now.” 

“Yea, a team where most of the graduates are from Inarizaki,” Atsumu bragged, pointing his fork in Kiyoomi’s direction.

“Three out of twenty-seven is not most,” Kiyoomi pointed out, daintily taking a bite from his cheesecake. 

“Anyway!” Osamu cut in before Atsumu could argue. “When do ya plan on leavin’ for Tokyo, Sakusa-kun?”

“Day after.” 

“Private jet?” Atsumu asked, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“Personal helicopter,” Suna butt in. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Kiyoomi scowled. Just because he was rich did not mean he was going to take the jet for a spin to Tokyo. “There’s nothing wrong with the Shinkansen.” 

“Ah, Gran class,” Osamu was quick to comment. Kiyoomi stared at him in betrayal. 

“It’s got fewer people and the seats are comfy,” he defended, sinking back into his corner of the couch. 

“Sounds a lot better than what these two plan on doin’,” Osamu agreed, placing his plate on the coffee table beside him. 

“Road trip,” Suna grinned, answering the question visible on Kiyoomi’s face. 

“Road trip?” As far as Kiyoomi knew, Suna did not own a car nor did he own a bike. Osamu sure wasn’t going to let them borrow his. Though even if he did, 6 hours on a motorcycle with two suitcases sounded like torture. All that was left was Miya’s cramped little sports car and that was ridiculous to even consider. Six whole hours in that little box. 

“Yup, gotta let her loose every once in a while and the stretch is jus’ perfect for it,” Atsumu smiled, voice colored with love as if he were talking about his pet and not his million-dollar car. 

_You’re a hypocrite_ , Kiyoomi’s in-brain Komori cheerfully told him. 

(Oh shut up.) 

  
  


An hour later, he was alone with Osamu in his kitchen. Atsumu had gone to the bathroom. Suna had kissed Osamu’s cheek whispering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘ _go easy on him_ ’ before walking out and leaving them be. 

Osamu was packing away the leftovers into Tupperware boxes as Kiyoomi watched, a glass of water in hand. There was an air of professionalism surrounding him as he worked, Kiyoomi noticed, like the kitchen and all within was his turf. 

“Would ya like a couple slices of the cheesecake too?” Osamu asked, pushing his hair back with his forearm. “Ya seemed ta like it earlier.” 

“There’s still some left?” 

Osamu laughed, the sound featherlight and warm. “‘Tsumu always goes overboard when he’s bakin’. Didn’t think he’d be able to do it with this, but, well, what can I say? He never fails to surprise me.” 

“You... weren’t the one who made it?” 

“Oh no,” he shook his head with a chuckle as he packed away three slices. “He’s better at bakin’ than I am. Startin’ to consider addin’ him on as a pastry chef when he, if ever, retires. Don’t tell him I said that though.” 

“Patissier does have a nice ring to it,” Kiyoomi agreed, a tiny smile forming on his face. The thought of Atsumu making cupcakes, eyebrows scrunched together in concentration with one cheek puffed out as he decorated festive-themed donuts and what not made quite an endearing image. 

“Sure does,” Osamu agreed, holding out the bag in which he placed the Tupperwares. “Well, here ya go!” 

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi told him, pouring every ounce of gratefulness he could manage into those words. He meant it. Gratitude wasn’t something that came easily to him, but he was willing to try. Osamu’s expression, however, was unreadable. 

He reached out, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the bag, waiting for Osamu to let go. He did not. Kiyoomi couldn’t tell what was going through his head. There was a certain amount of hardness in his eyes, almost defensive. Kiyoomi found himself unable to look away, pinned down in place by his piercing gaze. He wondered how something that sharp could look so vulnerable.

“Don’t hurt him, Kiyoomi.” 

* * *

  
  


**[03:12 PM] Miya :** what times ur train 

**[03:13 PM] Miya :** i can pick u up from the station if ya want 

I’ll be reaching in 1h30. **: You [3:15 PM]**

 **[03:13 PM] Miya :** k cool see ya omi !

 **[04:20 PM] Miya :** wait fuck 

**[04:20 PM] Miya :** bitch whats ur platform no

Took you long enough. **: You [4:21 PM]**

15 **: You [4:21 PM]**

 **[04:22 PM] Miya :** man fuck u 

**[04:22 PM] Miya :** k see ya in a bit 

  
  


**[Yesterday, 08:37 PM] Brother :** Found a place to meet up! 

**[Yesterday, 08:38 PM] Brother :** _shared a location_

 **[Yesterday, 09:21 PM] Brother :** Heard a lot about them from my friends! 

**[Yesterday, 09:53 PM] Brother :** Unless you’d like to go elsewhere? 

**[3:03 PM] Brother :** Have a safe journey! 

Sorry, I can’t talk right now. **: You [4:46 PM]**

“Yer seriously goin’ to continue ignorin’ him like that?” Atsumu asked, glancing at Kiyoomi’s phone before turning his attention back to the road. 

“I’ll call him back when we reach,” Kiyoomi mumbled, settling back into his seat as he hugged his travel backpack to his chest. He watched as his phone screen locked itself due to inactivity. He let the device slip from his grasp until it was dangling from his fingertips. He didn’t want to deal with him now, not when he felt ready to pass out at any second from drowsiness. 

“Y’know ya could’ve asked me to answer,” Atsumu told him, shifting gears. The hum of McLaren’s engine was different from his own Aston’s yet Kiyoomi found the sound comforting enough to close his eyes. “I would’ve told him that yer sleepin’. Wait are you actually sleepin’ right now? Omi?”

“Wake me later,” Kiyoomi yawned as he let tiredness claim him. 

“Hey, Omi? C’mon yer goin’ to drop yer phone if ya— Oh fer fuck’s sake.” 

That was the last thing Kiyoomi heard before he drifted off, the lingering warmth of Atsumu’s touch following him into his dreams. 

He woke up to the feeling of someone shaking his shoulder and what felt like fingertips ghosting over his skin as they brushed the hair away from his forehead. 

“Kiyoomi,” was whispered somewhere near his ear, the familiar Kansai-ben lilt dripping from every syllable. “C’mon now, I know the seats aren't that comfy either.”

“Hmm,” Kiyoomi stirred, blinking his eyes open. “Did we reach?” 

“Yea we did.” Atsumu was leaning over him, one arm raised overhead, resting against the McLaren’s wing door. “Took yer suitcase out fer ya by the way.” 

“Oh.” Kiyoomi looked down to where his suitcase was nestled in the cramped leg space. Sure enough, Atsumu had removed it. “Cool.” 

“Are ya gonna get out now or...?” Atsumu asked, tilting his head to the side. 

Kiyoomi blinked at him, awareness slowly but surely coming back to him. Atsumu’s body managed to block out most of the view and the angle made it hard to be able to look at the sky but it sure did seem a lot darker than when he’d stepped out of the station. What time was it? Where was his phone? 

“Oh yea,” Atsumu reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling the device out. “Here ya go.” 

Why did Miya have his phone? He snatched it out of his hands and unlocked it, suspicion getting the best of him as he switched through apps to see if anything was out of the ordinary. 

“Jeez, that’s how much ya trust me, huh?” It was accompanied with a laugh, but the warmth that’d been radiating from him was replaced by poorly concealed bitterness. Before Kiyoomi’s sleep-addled brain could figure out what he was going on about, Miya waved it off by changing the topic. “Nevermind that. Let’s go, I got yer bags.” 

The layout of the training facility reminded Kiyoomi of his university. It was massive for one part, perhaps due to the various facilities it seemed to house. The dorms were in a separate building, away from the sports complex. Athletes, some Kiyoomi recognized and some he didn’t, teamed around presumably exploring the place. Some watched them as they walked past and Kiyoomi got the feeling that they knew exactly who they were. 

Atsumu didn’t strike up a conversation, seemingly lost in thought as he rolled Kiyoomi’s suitcase behind him while hoisting his travel backpack over his shoulder. Kiyoomi had told him he could’ve carried it himself, but Atsumu insisted it was no big deal and that it would give him something to do. And so, Kiyoomi had let him. 

The first person from their team that they encountered was in the lobby. He stepped out of the lift as they entered the building, scrolling through his phone with one hand and adjusting his earphones with the other. 

“Aran-kun!” Atsumu yelled, voice echoing around them. Within one moment and the next Atsumu let go of the suitcase handle while unceremoniously dropping the backpack to the floor and running towards Aran and throwing himself on him. 

Kiyoomi, for his part, managed to grab his bag before it hit the floor, grunting as the sudden weight made him stumble. He had forgotten how heavy it was. 

“Atsumu-kun!” Aran laughed as he hugged him back. “It’s good ta see ya!”

“Why didn’t ya tell me yer comin’ today?” Atsumu asked, finally freeing Aran from his bone-crushing embrace. “Have ya seen Suna? We got here yesterday.” 

“I’ve seen the updates on Instagram,” Aran chuckled, “Still can’t believe he willingly went along with that.”

Kiyoomi tuned them out in favor of putting his suitcase upright. A rather difficult task considering he was holding onto his backpack with one hand and his mind was still groggy. 

Aran and Atsumu were still deep in conversation as if they hadn’t seen each other in months. Which was funny since Kiyoomi knew the twins video called Aran a minimum of two times a week. Well, it’d be best if he left them to it. Komori had already told him about his room number and passcode so he could settle in all by himself. 

He was about to hoist the backpack over his shoulder when he realized it would be a lot easier if he placed it over his suitcase where it’d rest against the telescopic handle. That way he’d just have to roll his luggage behind him, easy peasy. He lifted his backpack up, holding onto its handle with both hands, and placed it on top, only for the suitcase to get knocked off balance. Kiyoomi could only watch as it fell to the floor with a clatter. 

The commotion caused Aran and Atsumu to turn around, both of them sporting equal looks of surprise as if they’d just realized Kiyoomi was there. 

“My bad,” Kiyoomi mumbled, staring down at the collapsed suitcase near his feet. Maybe, he should call Komori. 

“Oh yea,” Atsumu spoke, more to himself before turning back to Aran. “Gotta take him to his room. He gets clumsy when he’s tired.” 

“Does he now?” Aran smiled good-naturedly, “Well, go on then. I won’t keep ya. Was goin’ on an evenin’ run anyway.”

He turned towards Kiyoomi, hand outstretched, “It’s a pleasure to be playin’ beside ya, Sakusa-kun.” 

“Oh, you too,” Kiyoomi told him as he shook his hand, mentally aware that what he’d just said did not make any sense. Aran didn’t seem to mind.

“You didn’t have to come with,” Kiyoomi said once Atsumu and him were in the lift. 

“Hmm? Whaddya mean?” 

“You could've stayed and talked to him,” Kiyoomi muttered, fingers worrying the inner seam of his jacket’s pocket. “It's not like I need help carrying bags.”

“You dropped your bags two minutes ago,” Atsumu pointed out. 

Kiyoomi frowned, eyes focused on the scratches etched into the metal of the lift’s door. “Accidentally. It was an accident.” 

“Sure,” Atsumu huffed. 

The elevator chimed as they reached their floor. The doors slid open and Atsumu stepped out first, pulling the suitcase behind him. 

“You could’ve stayed,” Kiyoomi repeated, clearing his throat as he followed him. Gosh, when was the last time he drank water? “You looked like you had more to talk about.” 

“And come across as a terrible boyfriend?” Atsumu laughed, the sound shallow and harsh on Kiyoomi’s ears. “Yea, no. Not today.”

His eyebrows furrowed as he thought over what Atsumu said. “What does that have to do with anything?” 

Atsumu tensed, shoulders stiffening. Kiyoomi wasn’t sure he would’ve noticed the subtle change in his demeanor if he wasn’t walking behind him. They stopped in front of Kiyoomi’s door and Atsumu finally turned towards him, the fakest of smiles plastered on his face. 

“Y’know what? Nothing, it’s nothing.” He slung the backpack off his shoulder, placing it on top of the suitcase where it leaned against the wall. This time it did not fall. “Well, since ya clearly what yer space or whatever I’m gonna go back to my room.” 

He walked away, heading towards the end of the hallway where Kiyoomi assumed his room was, leaving him standing there, staring after him in utter disbelief. 

What the fuck.

  
  


Sorry, I can’t talk right now. **: You [4:46 PM]**

 **[4:49 PM] Brother :** My bad! Should’ve figured you’d be busy settling in haha 

_shared a location_ **: You [6:04 PM]**

This was the place I was telling you about. **: You [6:04 PM]**

The one I went to on my 17th birthday. **: You [6:05 PM]**

I’d like to go there again. **: You [6:05 PM]**

 **[6:07 PM] Brother :** Are you sure that’s where you want to go?

 **[6:07 PM] Brother :** I mean, if that’s where you want to go then I don’t mind but…

 **[6:08 PM] Brother :** Are you really sure? 

**[6:08 PM] Brother :** Wouldn’t it be better to go elsewhere? 

If I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t have sent you the link. **: You [6:09 PM]**

 **[6:11 PM] Brother :** Fair enough. 

**[6:11 PM] Brother :** Okay, we’ll go there.

  
  


A week. A week had passed and Kiyoomi still had no idea what the ever-loving fuck Miya had been going on about. He didn’t ask him about it. He gave him space. 

Practice was brutal, occupying most of his thoughts. And when he wasn’t thinking about volleyball, he was thinking about Genshin. It was only as he stared at the ceiling, settled in for the night, did he allow himself to think about how he’d be meeting his brother soon. 

He surrendered himself to volleyball, hung out with Komori and Wakatoshi during breaks, went back to his room to grind for his game, pondered over his impending doom that was his upcoming clusterfuck of a weekend, and slept. That was how he’d spent his week. 

Beyond the ‘Omi-kun’ yelled out on the court as he set in his direction, Miya did not talk to him. He spent most of his time with Aran and Suna, occasionally joined by Hoshiumi, Bokuto, and Hakuba. Sometimes it was Kiryu instead of Hakuba, sometimes it was Yaku instead of Bokuto. Not that Kiyoomi was keeping track of who hung out with Miya. 

He wasn’t. 

It’s not his fault there wasn’t much else to look at that wasn’t Komori’s incessant probing gaze. 

“Aren’t you dating Atsumu?” Yaku asked him. They were sitting across from each other in the dining hall. The Inarizaki grads were sitting on the other side of the room. Kiyoomi didn’t dwell on it. 

“I am,” Kiyoomi told him, ignoring Komori ceaselessly tapping the end of his fork against his plate. 

Yaku shrugged, taking a bite of his food and keeping his thoughts to himself. The second question didn’t come from him. It came from Hyakuzawa, “How long have you two been together?” 

The tapping grew louder. Kiyoomi reached out grabbing hold of Komori’s hand and forcefully stilling his movement. How long have they supposedly been together again? “Nearly a year.” 

Hyakuzawa nodded, mulling over it as he went back to his food. 

Kiyoomi pushed his own plate away from him. He lost his appetite. 

The third question (and consequent ones) came from none other than Hinata Shouyou. 

Practice was over for the day. The rest of the team milling about, completing their stretches. Most of the older players had already left for the locker room as the comparatively younger ones strayed about doing their stretches or engaging in gossip or both. 

Kiyoomi eyed the exit, waiting for the moment the locker room would be free so he could go in next. Komori was on the other side of the court, deep in conversation with Suna, Hoshiumi, and Kageyama. Kiyoomi could feel his social energy draining at the sight. He wondered how Kageyama was doing. 

Hinata was standing next to him, surprisingly quiet as if waiting for Kiyoomi to start the conversation. Kiyoomi didn’t. 

On the other side of the room, Miya joined them, leaning against Suna. 

His patience seemed to have worn thin. Kiyoomi could see Hinata studying him out of the corner of his eyes. “Did something happen between you two?” 

Kiyoomi stilled. Did Miya say something to him? Did Miya let something slip? Why was Hinata looking at him like that? “No.” A beat. “Why do you ask?” 

Hinata gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “Oh, I don’t know. You two just seem to be keeping your distance a little. Are you sure it’s nothing?” 

Kiyoomi forced himself not to flinch from the concern in Hinata’s voice. “It’s nothing.” 

“Did you guys fight?” Kiyoomi did not like the very audible glee that colored his voice.

Kiyoomi was about to shut him down, rebuttal on the tip of his tongue but the nature of the question made him reconsider— no, actually consider. Did they fight? Sure enough, Kiyoomi was giving him space and Miya for his part hadn’t sought him out. They hadn’t texted each other in the time span either, but then again they were currently living on the same floor and were in each other's presence for a rough estimate of 11 hours. Probably more. They were being civil to each other, Miya still tossed his way and the sets never wavered. If anything, each one felt better than the last. 

Was this because of what happened in the hallway? Did that even constitute a fight? It was entirely one-sided whatever that was, but things certainly had been odd since then.

“Not really,” he replied truthfully (because that was the truth wasn’t it?). Hinata was still looking at him expectantly. Did he really want Kiyoomi to elaborate? 

On the other side of the court, Komori threw him a questioning glance. Suna and the others were still with him along with the newer EJP member that Suna wouldn’t shut up about… for all the wrong (and equally cursed) reasons, Nagito. Hinata was still waiting for him to reply, ever so patient when it came to other people’s business. And well since he asked for it, out tumbles a lie from Kiyoomi’s mouth as flimsy as the kinning jokes Suna made. 

“He’s just mad at me because I accidentally spoiled a major plot point in Danganronpa for him.” He shrugged, “You know how he gets.” 

Hinata nodded, “Yeah, he did get pissed off with me when I talked to him about Birds of Prey before he’d seen it. I think he even blocked me on Twitter for it too.” 

  
  


Kiyoomi knew Miya was stubborn. Which was unfortunate because so was he. 

And which was also why it was after the second week had passed that he finally decided to finally— _finally_ —talk to him. Whether it was because of Komori’s persistence or because Kiyoomi was quite frankly tired of the whispers that followed in his wake was up for debate. 

He managed to get him alone after dinner. A feat Kiyoomi had achieved by hiding in the back corner of the hallway with his attention firmly focused on the entrance of the dining hall. And if anyone asked, Kiyoomi was supposedly back in his room. 

He waited until Miya got onto the lift, waited until the doors were about to close before slipping in. 

“Fuckin’ HELL! Don’t jus’ show up like that! What’re ya an assassin?!” Miya hissed, caging himself in one corner.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Kiyoomi pointed out and Miya, for his part, had the nerve to look guilty. Kiyoomi wondered whether the guilt was over the fact that he felt remorse over his actions or the (arguably more correct) fact that he didn’t feel any of it at all. 

“We need to talk,” He spoke since Miya didn’t seem in any rush to contribute. “This is getting out of hand.” 

“What is?” 

Kiyoomi scoffed, stepping closer to Miya while his hands curled into fists where they were shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “Don’t act slick. I know Hinata talked to you too.” 

“Aha,” nervous chuckle, “he might’ve, yea. It’s startin’ to ring a bell.” 

“Did I…” The question died in his throat. A part of him did not want to know the answer and the mere fact that Miya avoided looking at him should have been an answer enough. The other more stubborn part of him refused to be the one to further acknowledge whatever this was. He’d already swallowed down enough of his pride. 

Miya, on the other hand, looked very content with staring at the stain on the floor. His sheer reluctance at taking part in the conversation, the way his eyes occasionally darted around as if trying to plot a way to escape the metal enclosure they were currently in, all of it left a bad taste in Kiyoomi’s mouth. Sure, it was hypocritical of him to get worked over this considering how he was the one who had avoided Miya all those months ago, but then that just meant they were both hypocrites.

The thought should’ve given him some amount of comfort because ha ha Komori was right all along, wasn’t he? They were alike even if neither of them would ever admit it. However, it did absolutely nothing to eradicate the hollow feeling in his chest that threatened to swallow him whole. 

He took a deep breath, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand. “Did I do something wrong?” 

He hated how vulnerable he sounded, he hated the expression on Miya’s face as he finally turned to look at him. As much as he wanted to, Kiyoomi did not look away, meeting his gaze head-on. 

A beat passed before Miya finally replied, his tone soft and… defeated. “Nah, yer good.” 

Kiyoomi did not know what to make of it, but nonetheless, it still felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders as relief flooded through him. However, he couldn’t dwell on it long because the next moment the lift doors slid open and there was the sound of someone yelping in surprise, startling both of them. 

“Atsumu?! Sakusa?! Didn’t both of ya go back to yer rooms already?” Aran asked, exasperatedly looking between the two of them. “What’re ya doin’ in the lift?” 

Kiyoomi faltered, stepping away from Miya. The entrance of the dining hall was still visible behind Aran. Huh. His gaze darted towards the panel on the side to confirm the floor they were on. Did Miya not press the button for their floor? 

“Aran-kun!” Miya greeted in a clumsy attempt to save face. “We were just—.”

“Hold it!” Aran raised his hand, cutting Miya off. “On second thoughts I do not want to know.” 

“What’s that supposed ta mean?!” Miya asked, eyebrows furrowed together in offense. 

“We were just talking,” Kiyoomi sighed, he stepped forward and pressed the button for their floor. “That’s all.” 

Aran looked suspiciously between the two of them before shrugging and walking in, the doors immediately closing shut behind him. The elevator began to rise up with a clang as awkward silence settled between the three of them. It was among the most uncomfortable minute of Kiyoomi’s life. 

“Hey,” Miya whispered, leaning close enough that he could rest his chin on Kiyoomi’s shoulder if he wanted to. Kiyoomi inclined his head towards him in acknowledgment. “Wanna come to my room to finish watching Haunting of Bly Manor?” 

“Oh,” Kiyoomi felt his throat drying up, “Yeah, that’d be nice.” 

It was an hour later when he’s curled up on the vacant chair in Miya’s room did he voice out the question on his mind, in a need of reassurance. 

Miya was splayed out on his bed beside him. The only source of light came from his laptop that was placed at the foot of it. Kiyoomi reached over and nudged Miya’s ankle with his foot. 

“Hmm?” 

“Are we good?” he asked, stealing a glance at Atsumu’s side profile, noting the way his ruffled hair looked in the dimness and the way the light painted his skin, emphasizing the sharpness while softening the edges. 

Atsumu met his gaze, looking at Kiyoomi as if he was seeing him for the first time. He looked away first, hand grasping Kiyoomi’s knee and giving it a pat followed by a squeeze. 

“We’re good.” 

  
  


The place was exactly how Kiyoomi had remembered it. Bold, flashy, loud, the last place he’d ever step foot in if he didn’t have a personal vendetta of sorts. Not that anyone (or anything) had been murdered beyond his own sanity but the sentiment still fit. 

He was not going to lie, he was enjoying every minute of this. The feeling won’t be lasting soon anyway, his brother was bound to find his bearings soon enough. Hopefully, it’d take a while if the way he squirmed while his eyes kept darting from the gigantic pink horse head to Kiyoomi was anything to go by. 

Sakusa Katsuro looked very much out of place at the Kawaii Monster Cafe, probably even more so than Kiyoomi. He was dressed in business casuals, shirt fashionably tucked into khakis, his short hair falling in a meticulous wave to the side, in a style similar to Kiyoomi’s own if only less curled. 

“Would you like me to order for you?” Kiyoomi asked, making sure his expression remained neutral and in no way betrayed his true intentions. 

“Sure, I’d appreciate that,” Katsuro said, barely sparing a glance towards the menu. “What do they say these days? Knock yourself out!”

“Hmm, okay.” 

Kiyoomi pressed the items on the electronic device they had given. It was, like most things in the vicinity, shaped like a monster. It was admirable how strongly they stuck to their theme.

“So, Kiyoomi, how’s everything going?” Katsuro asked, leaning forward and clasping his hands in front of him. He was probably attempting to gain some sort of control in the situation. 

Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow, observing him. “Splendid.” 

“That’s good, that’s good!” Katsuro sighed, turning his head around taking in the ambiance. “This place sure has character, huh?” 

“You could say that.” 

“I’m quite surprised you chose this of all places. This doesn’t seem like your thing, you know?” 

Oh, Kiyoomi knew. “Komori brought me here for my birthday once.”

“Ah, that’s nice. How is he? Doing well?” 

“Doing well.” 

“That’s good.”

They lapsed into silence, awkwardness taking the seat beside them. There wasn’t much he could do about it considering they did not have much in common despite being of the same blood. 

“How long are you in Japan for?” Kiyoomi asked, fingers itching to reach for his phone to have something to do than to just sit and wait for his food. 

“Another three days,” his brother replied. “They’ve me up at the Hyatt, you know the one near that place your sister loves? Yeah, there. Of course, I expected no less since I’m one of the guest speakers at the conference, but it sure is nice to be back home for a bit.”

“Hmm.” 

“So, Kiyo, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Katsuro began, voice taking on a more serious tone and Kiyoomi felt his heart drop to his feet. Could he please not do this right now? They didn’t even get their order yet. 

“You have?” Kiyoomi asked, forcing the scowl off his face. 

“Well, is there anything you plan to do after all this?” 

God, Kiyoomi really did not want to do this right now. Right over his brother's shoulder, he could see a waitress making her way over, serving tray in hand. He could stall replying until she got here and hopefully, his brother would drop the subject. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

“Rainbow pasta?” the waitress announced, smiling at them as she placed the dish in front of Kiyoomi after he raised his hand. She placed the other dish, a yellow-colored burger made to resemble Pac Man, in front of his brother. 

Katsuro, for his credit, didn’t even bat an eye. Kiyoomi’s jaw twitched. 

His own order, true to the name, was multicolored pasta in various pastel shades from pink to blue along with 5 different types of sauce in different colors. 

“Volleyball’s all well and good and I am proud of Kiyo. I really am. But, you need to think about the future too, you know. You won’t be able to do this forever and in my opinion, I’d rather get out first than be forcibly taken out later on.” He picked up his burger, taking a bite out of Pac Man. “This about it. You might want to consider other things.” 

Kiyoomi found himself losing his appetite. His brother, despite the front he was putting up right now, didn’t really care. Sakusa Katsuro was, to put it simply, a two-faced bitch. His entire personality was built upon sweet talk, to prove to you that he is on your side even when he never was in the first place. His true thoughts were always kept to himself. Sometimes, Kiyoomi felt like he didn’t even know who the person sitting in front of him was. 

“I’m telling you to be reasonable, Kiyo. You need a backup plan. Volleyball can’t be everything.” 

It’s not that Kiyoomi hadn’t considered life beyond being a pro player. He knew one day he’d have to leave it all beyond, whether it be from an unsuspecting injury or because his time was due. He knew that. His main goal in mind was satisfaction. What was the point of wasting your life away if you weren’t satisfied? 

Kiyoomi swallowed down the lump in his throat. He wasn’t stupid, he had a backup plan. Of course, he had a backup plan. What did they think of him? It wasn’t going to be something they’d approve of though. Not if he could help it. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell his brother about it right now. 

His brother seemed to get the hint that Kiyoomi wasn’t going to contribute anything to the topic and morbidly stare at his food instead. “So,” he took another bite of his burger, “your boyfriend… What’s he like?” 

Kiyoomi spluttered, “What?” 

“Your boyfriend? Miya Atsumu? Tell me about him.” 

“Atsumu?” 

“Yeah,” Katsuro raised his eyebrow. “Unless I mixed the name up with his brother? Osamu?” 

“No! no,” Kiyoomi shook his head, “Atsumu is the one I’m— the one we— we’re dating, yeah.” 

“On the same team?” 

“Yes,” Kiyoomi replied, picking his fork up. “On the same team. He’s the setter.” 

“The one who sets you the ball? You’re a spiker right?” 

“Yup.” He twirled his fork in the pasta. “He loves the game perhaps a little more than I do. It’s admirable.” 

“Does he make you happy, Kiyo?” 

Kiyoomi felt his face heat up. Did Atsumu make him happy? The obvious answer was yes. Yes because he was supposed to make him happy. Yes because they weren’t actually dating. Yes because what they had wasn’t real. There wasn’t any other answer to this, was there? He wasn’t required to think over it. 

“He does.” 

Kiyoomi couldn’t tell whether he was lying or not. 

**[03:24 PM] Miya :** parked outside

Coming. **: You [03:25 PM]**

The McLaren was unmistakable. It was parked on the curb with its driver still inside, one hand resting on the steering wheel. Said driver revved up the engine when he caught sight of Kiyoomi. 

“Well, that’s my ride,” Kiyoomi informed his brother as a mild bout of second-hand embarrassment washed over him. Why did Miya have to do that? 

“That him?” Katsuro asked, eyeing the car through his sunglasses. “Nice ride.” 

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Kiyoomi bit out.

“Pretty sure you won’t,” his brother laughed, patting Kiyoomi on the back. “That’s all right. Well, my car is around the corner.” 

“You drove?” 

“Yeah, took my chance and rented a Bentley,” another laugh, “You know how it is.” 

“Right.” His brother was as picky about his commute as he was but for entirely different reasons. “Guess, I’ll get going now. Since he’s waiting.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Don’t let me hold you back. Oh, by the way, Kiyoomi, bring him along too, yeah?” 

He did not need to elaborate where he meant. “I’ll ask him about it.” 

“You better.” Katsuro rested his hand on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. “It was nice catching up with you, Kiyo.” 

“You too.” 

Katsuro stayed where he stood as he watched Kiyoomi get into Atsumu’s car. Kiyoomi could feel his gaze trained onto his back, curious in its nature as if it was waiting for something. 

“So, how’d it go?” Atsumu asked in a way of greeting. 

“Better than I thought it would,” Kiyoomi replied, closing the door shut. He glanced at Atsumu who was looking at him expectantly waiting for him to add on to his statement. His eyes darted over the windshield where his brother was still visible, still waiting. 

“Omi?”

“Sorry about this,” he whispered as he reached over the console and pressed his lips against the corner of Atsumu’s mouth in a chaste kiss. 

Across the road, Katsuro raised his hand in a wave before walking away. 

“He’s kinda creepy,” Atsumu commented once Katsuro was out of sight. “What’d he want?” 

“To bridge the gap,” Kiyoomi muttered, settling back into his seat and wearing his seat belt. “They want you to come.” 

“We talkin’ the Maldives again?” Atsumu shifted gears, pulling away from the curb.

“You don’t have to.”

“Omi, look at it this way,” Atsumu pointed out, cutting over the rest of what Kiyoomi was trying to say. “If I don’t go and you go, then that makes me a terrible boyfriend and whatever happened at the Ritz was all talk. If I don’t get to go then ya don’t get to either. It’s makin’ a statement. But since not once have ya considered not goin’ which means ya definitely plan on goin’ a whole one hundred percent and that also means I’m comin’ with ya a whole one hundred percent. That’s just how it is.” 

Oh. 

“I didn’t realize you gave it that much thought.”

“Funny because I didn’t realize ya didn’t.” 

Kiyoomi pouted, turning his head away and looking out of the window. Well, this was just fantastic. 

“Anyway, ya free tomorrow?” Atsumu asked, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Don’t we have a shoot?” 

“Jersey fitting,” Atsumu confirmed. “After that. There’s this place I wanna check out.”

“What is it?”

Atsumu smiled, teeth glinting in the afternoon sun that shone through the windows. “A surprise.”

**[INSTAGRAM] miyatsmu tagged you in a post**

Kiyoomi pressed the notification, letting the towel he’d been using to dry his hair fall around his shoulders as he waited for the application to load. 

It was a picture of him shot at the snake cafe Atsumu had taken him to. In the picture, Kiyoomi was smiling widely at the camera, showing teeth while the colorful San Francisco garter snake curled itself around the forearm that Kiyoomi was lifting it with. 

Kiyoomi didn’t think he had ever seen himself smile that big before and genuinely mean it.

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> **miyatsmu** how come omi never smiles this big when he sees me </3
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> 
> **sunarin** was abt to say because u aren’t a snake but then that’d be a lie
> 
> **onigirimiya** @sunarin i can’t believe you beat me to it
> 
> **miyatsmu** @onigirimiya @sunarin i hate two so much u both make my blood boil with pure unadulterated rage
> 
> **theofficialkourai** @versachirou WHEN ARE YOU LETTING ME MEET SNAKES
> 
>   
>    
> 

* * *

  
  


By defeating Poland, they had secured their spot in the semifinals. The adrenalin from their win that coursed through Kiyoomi’s veins had sizzled out during the post-match press meets making him the first one to return back to the Olympic village. 

He shouldered open the door to his shared room with Atsumu, letting a sigh out as closed the door behind him, body sinking to the floor. He sat there for a while, going over the last plays in his head. There was still room for improvement, there would always be room for improvement. 

When he finally regained enough energy, he pushed himself off the floor, gathered his supplies, and headed towards the bathroom to take a shower. This one would be much longer than the one he had to rush through in the locker room. 

Atsumu was already back in their room by the time he stepped out of the bathroom. He was sleeping on his stomach, resting his chin on his pillow as he scrolled through his phone. He flipped over to face Kiyoomi as he made his way towards his own bed. 

“Did ya eat?” he asked, twirling his phone in his grasp. 

“Just the protein bar they gave us in between interviews,” he replied shuffling through the things in his bag. He couldn’t find the t-shirt he was looking for. “Hey, have you seen—?”

“Iridescent shark t-shirt?” — “Yeah.” — “Front zipper of yer suitcase. Managed to get food from the cafeteria fer ya. It’s on the table. Refilled yer bottle too.”

“Oh, thanks,” Kiyoomi mumbled, voice getting muffled as he pulled his shirt on.

“Are ya turnin’ in early?” 

Kiyoomi shrugged as he looked at what Atsumu got him for dinner. “If I feel like it. Why?” 

“Nothin’,” Atsumu lied, falling back onto the bed so he could stare at the ceiling. That was usually a code word for one thing and one thing only.

Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes at him. “No wishing. No quests. Only comms, mining, domains, and bosses. Laptop or phone?” 

“Can’t believe yer takin’ advantage of me like this,” Atsumu whined. “I’m heartbroken, Omi.” 

“Laptop or phone?” 

“Laptop,” Atsumu said, getting out of bed and opening Kiyoomi’s laptop bag where it sat on the chair. 

“Set it up with the TV then.” Kiyoomi laid out napkins on the table, covering the surface of it before placing the food cartons back on top of them. 

“How do ya expect me to do that?” Atsumu pulled out the laptop, placing it on the free edge of the desk. 

“Screen sharing?” Was that not obvious?

“Omi,” Atsumu stopped what he was doing, holding onto the wireless mouse and keyboard, “that ain’t a smart TV. Yer gonna need an HDMI cable and neither of us has that.” 

“It isn’t? Won’t it at least have Bluetooth?” 

“No,” Atsumu snorted, “Think about it. Why would they spend so much on TVs for each room? I’m surprised we even have one in the first place.”

“So you’re just going to set it up here?” 

“Yup.” 

“While I eat?” 

“Bingo!” Atsumu plugged the charger into the socket. “Ya don’t mind, do ya?” 

“No… Here, hand me that.”

Kiyoomi watched Atsumu play as he ate, occasionally giving out a comment on his playing style or if he missed something. He had already asked Atsumu why he couldn’t just download the game on his own device only to receive the reply of how that just wasn’t the same thing.

(“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You whale,” he replied, hacking his way through a domain.)

It was around two hours later, when Atsumu finally ran out of resin and Kiyoomi found himself dozing off, did they finally call it quits for the night. Kiyoomi used the bathroom first as Atsumu cleared away their desk, packing everything back into the backpack. 

“What time is it?” he asked, stepping out and rubbing at his eyes. 

“Around ten-thirty,” Atsumu replied, walking past him and slamming the bathroom door shut. 

“What the fuck Miya?!” Kiyoomi yelled, whipping his head around to glare at him, ready to cuss him out because seriously? Did he not have basic human decency? The walls were already thin, that sounded so much louder than it had any right to be.

“It wasn’t me!” Miya swore, standing near his duffle bag which was a whole five feet away from the bathroom door that was still slightly ajar. 

To his right (and Atsumu’s left), a breathy and obnoxiously loud moan resonated through the wall, grabbing their attention. Kiyoomi clenched his jaw. Why did this have to be happening now of all times? 

“Who’s beside us?” he asked, scowling in the direction of the noise. “It better not be Hinata and Kageyama.” 

Another whine followed as the sound of something heavy hit the wall. 

“That was a woman,” Atsumu whispered, backing away. “That was most definitely a woman.”

“Why would a woman have the room next to us?!” 

“That’s not what I meant!” Atsumu grabbed his arm, pulling him back. “Also be quiet! If we can hear them then they can hear us too.”

“I think they’re a little too busy to be able to hear us,” Kiyoomi snapped but allowed himself to be pulled away. “Do you not know who is next door?” 

“Pretty sure it’s not anyone we’re close to.” Atsumu seemed to think over it before giving up with a shrug. “They’ll moan it out sooner or later.” 

It took no less than twenty minutes for them to finally figure out who it was. By then, they’d already settled into their beds, turning the lights off and drenching the room in darkness as they did their best to ignore the occasional groans that slipped through. 

The revelation came in the form of a growl followed by what Kiyoomi considered was arguably one of the top ten corniest lines to be used during coitus, “God, baby, you’re so wet for me.” 

“That sound like Gao to you?” Atsumu asked, tilting his head towards Kiyoomi. 

“Hyakuzawa?” 

“Nah, Hakuba Gao. He used ta have the same haircut as Hyakuzawa.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think we could knock on their door and ask them to keep it down?” Kiyoomi asked into the darkness amidst wails of ‘right there’, ‘yes’, and ‘harder’.

“Be my guest, Omi.” 

“I’m already in bed.”

“Yer sayin’ I’m not?” 

“You’re closer to the door.”

“Hey, Omi?” Atsumu asked, “Do ya think they’re done with their foreplay yet?”

“...”

“...”

“I think there’d be more creaking if they were.”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve a point.”

“So,” Kiyoomi pulled his covers up to his chin, “you aren’t going to go tell them to keep it down?” 

“I ain’t movin’, Omi. Don’t ya have yer headphones on?”

“I do.” Around his neck.

“Noise cancellin’?” 

“Yeah. Yours?” 

“Same. Sunarin got ‘em for me. Birthday.” 

He had seen how much care Atsumu had treated them with. Something about how it was the first gift from Suna that wasn’t a gap gift of sorts. “Hmm. Sony, right?” 

“Yea… Yers was Bose?” 

“Yup.” 

“Oh, that’s cool. That’s cool. Ya listen to ASMR?” 

“Magnus Archives.” 

“The spooky shit?” 

Kiyoomi snorted, “Yes, the spooky shit.” 

“Don’t tell me ya listen to it before fallin’ asleep.”

“I find it hard to focus on podcasts for longer than three minutes so it doesn’t make much of a difference.” 

There was the sound of Atsumu shuffling around, shifting in his bed. “Well, whatever floats yer boat,” he let out a yawn, “Good night, Omi.” 

Kiyoomi pulled his own headphones over his ears, effectively cutting off the creeks from their handsy neighbors. “Good night, Atsumu.”

The interview came out at the worst possible timing: the day before their semi-finals. 

Kiyoomi had noticed most of his teammates huddling around a magazine. He didn't think much of it. Of course, their team probably had a special spread or something of the likes. They were among the top four right now after all. Maybe, they were just boosting their morale by looking through it. 

He shrugged it off, thinking nothing of it. That was his first mistake. 

Komori had snagged his attention right after and now that Kiyoomi thought about it, it was definitely in an attempt to keep him distracted. It was unfortunate how it was all for naught. Kiyoomi would’ve preferred ignorance if he could help it. 

The magazine was beside Hinata’s elbow as the man himself sat down in one of the vacant chairs at their table. Komori had gone to get another serving of today’s main course and was still in line. The Inarizaki trio, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

Just as he thought, the cover of the magazine was a collage of all of his teammates in their red jerseys, a product of one of the many photoshoots they had to go through during camp for publicity purposes. There were headlines around the edges, none of which was easy to read considering half of the words were covered by an elbow and he was attempting to read it upside down. 

“Do you want to go through it, Omi-san?” Hinata asked, nudging the thing towards him. “You’ve been staring at it.”

“Not particularly,” Kiyoomi muttered, squinting at the corner that had managed to come free from Hinata’s hold. Was that his name on the cover? Did that say Sakusa? 

“You sure?” Hinata’s eyebrows knit together in concern before it smoothened out as if some sort of realization had dawned over him. “Though I guess you would’ve already seen it since he is your father after all.” 

“Is that my name— What did you just say?” The food he had scooped up onto his spoon, halfway to his mouth, slipped off and fell onto the table with a splat. 

“About your dad?” Hinata waited a total of two seconds for Kiyoomi to reply, taking his silence as confirmation. “Did he not tell you? They interviewed him about you! I didn’t know your family owned Sakusa Enterprises! That’s kinda cool, isn’t it? Don’t they have like four branches outside of Japan too? Never realized you were that rich!” 

Kiyoomi tuned him out, his blood running cold coupled with the woozy feeling in his chest. He dropped the spoon onto his plate with a clatter as he reached over to grab the magazine. 

Why? Why? _Why?_

> **Exclusive Interview with Sakusa Toshi**
> 
> ‘ _Kiyoomi was meant to conquer the world stage._
> 
> _We expected nothing less._ ’
> 
> PAGE 29 

Meant? _To conquer? Meant?_ Since fucking when? 

“Uh, Omi-san? Is everything alright?” 

Kiyoomi opened the magazine, flipping through the pages until his father’s face stared back at him from the glossy pages. Kiyoomi’s pictures were scattered around on the page too, along with one complete family portrait including his siblings. 

His grip tightened, crumbling it as he skimmed through the interview. Anger raged underneath the surface, crashing against his ribs with every line— _every lie_ —that he read. 

> _Our children have all gotten where they are through hard work born out of their devotion to the field… We’ve kept tabs on every single one of their achievements… Kiyoomi’s love for volleyball was something none of us could truly understand, but that did not stop us from supporting the youngest one every step of the way… We are proud of him and everything that he has accomplished… Being able to represent his country on the world stage_ [wipes away a stray tear] _is an honor and we expected nothing less of him… When Kiyoomi puts his mind to something, there is nothing that can distract him from it. Underestimating him comes at a price that his opponents will be paying… There is nothing compared to the pride I feel when I get to say that he is my son._

What utter fucking bullshit. Kiyoomi could laugh. He could laugh so hard about how humorous this was. Fucking comedic actually. Very funny! He wanted to bash his skull against the wall. 

And there was still another page left to go. 

> _Atsumu is a very pleasant young man… Yes, that’s right. My wife and I had the pleasure of dining with them and it filled us with joy to know that Kiyoomi has someone looking out for him while we’re not around… We consider him a part of the family… We hope whatever the future has in store for them is filled with happiness and victory… Marriage? Haha, I’m not sure if I’m the right person to be answering that. Not that we wouldn’t be supportive of it, but we’d rather they do things at their own pace… As I said, we consider him as a part of the family._ [laughs] _Why would I object to being able to make that official?_

Kiyoomi got up, letting the magazine fall from his grasp. The pages crinkled, finally free from the death grip he’d been crushing them with. 

“Uh, Sakusa-san? Are you okay?” 

“I need to go.” 

Kiyoomi walked away, as fast as his legs could carry him to wherever they wanted to as long as it was far far away from the offending object. He didn’t know where he was going, bowing his head as he walked, pushing past people as he passed. His nails dug into his palm, except it wasn’t hard enough to distract him, it wasn’t hard enough to distract him from the fact that everything just felt like one big massive joke. 

A choked laugh forced its way out of his system when he finally found himself alone in a secluded area, somewhere where he probably shouldn’t be. Not that it mattered. 

Gosh. 

He spent most of his life going against his parents’ wishes, going against everything they expected of him, and now the sheer audacity of that bastard to go ahead and claim that he was proud? Proud? After asking multiple times when he’d quit? Proud after telling him he was wasting away everything they’d done for him? Pride in calling Kiyoomi his son after specifically telling him he was a disgrace when he’d come home with average grades in a subject he did not give two shits about? 

Expected nothing less of him when all Kiyoomi had done in their eyes was constantly let them down? Kept tabs on every single achievement but they didn’t know he made it on the national team until Atsumu was the one who told him? Supporting him every step of the way? By what? By not respecting his choices? By not respecting his chosen path? By not respecting him? 

And that shit about Atsumu? Part of the family? Part of the family?! Who were they fucking kidding? 

“Pleasant young man,” he scoffed, kicking the rubble. 

His nerves were frayed and on edge. He was itching to do something, to scream, maybe punch a wall. Maybe punch himself. He had a match tomorrow. A semi-final. Fucking hell. 

“This isn’t fucking fair,” he muttered, voice low and hollowed out as he collapsed on the payment with a thud, legs stretched out before him. 

“Omi?” 

Kiyoomi turned his head towards the voice to see ruffled bleached blond hair as if Atsumu had run his hand through it one too many times and the most concerned gaze Kiyoomi had ever seen directed at him. 

“Oh,” Kiyoomi spoke, saying the first thing that came into his head. “You.”

“I, uh,” Atsumu took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck, “I read the interview.” 

“Delightful, wasn’t it?” Kiyoomi grinned at him, mirthless. “Guess, I should welcome you to the fam, then?” 

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu frowned, sadness in his eyes and a downward curve of his mouth. 

“It’s funny, you know,” Kiyoomi tilted his chin upwards, gazing at the sky overhead. “How easy it is for them to act like the perfect little family for the cameras. We’ve everything put together because we’re rich! They’ve said so much shit, Atsumu. So much shit. But they’ll love me for the cameras.” 

Atsumu didn’t say anything. Kiyoomi wasn’t really expecting him to. 

He heaved out a shaky sigh, “They—they used to tell me they’d cut me off. If I didn’t get my grades up to their standards in University. And now they’re… They’re getting clout from my success? That’s fucked up, right Atsumu? That’s so fucked.”

Kiyoomi reached up to touch his face, staring at his fingertips as they came away wet. 

Oh. 

“I don’t like feeling like this,” he mumbled. “I don’t like this. I don’t… I don’t like this. I don’t like them.”

“Hey, hey. I’ve got you.” Strong arms wrapped themselves around Kiyoomi, holding him close. Atsumu’s scent filled his senses, calming him and making him feel at ease. He could feel Atsumu’s breath against the shell of his ear as instinct kicked over and Kiyoomi buried his head in the crook of his neck, fingers clutching onto the fabric of Atsumu’s shirt. A broken sob tore itself out of him as he shook, letting his emotions take over as he finally fell apart. 

Atsumu held him through it. 

  
  


They came third, the bronze medal a heavy weight against his chest. A reminder that next time, they’d walk away with gold. 

The wind ruffled through his hair as Kiyoomi stood at the edge of the open rooftop bar that had been rented out, overlooking the city below him. Athletes from all over were lingering amongst themselves as they relaxed for what probably felt like the first time in weeks, letting loose at the award ceremony afterparty. 

He turned around, searching for Komori through the crowd. He’d gone with Suna to get them drinks, but that was over fifteen minutes ago. 

To the side, he could see Argentina’s setter Oikawa Tooru with his arm around Hinata while Kageyama and their team’s Athletic trainer Iwaizumi listened on to whatever the two of them were animatedly talking about. 

At the corner of the dance floor, he could see Gao dancing with a foreigner, holding her close as they swayed to the beat. Kiyoomi wondered whether it was the same person he had brought to his room. He wasn’t planning on bringing her again, was he? 

He finally managed to locate Suna standing in the thick of the crowd, deep in conversation with someone dressed in a casual suit and their dual-toned hair pulled up in a half bun, the tips of it bleached blond. So, Kodzuken showed up too, huh? 

“Man, sorry about that,” Komori’s voice came from beside him, sounding a little breathless. He held out Kiyoomi’s drink towards him. “Got held up.” 

“Held up?” He raised an eyebrow as he accepted the drink, swirling it around in the glass with a gentle twist of his wrist. “Was it Brazil’s libero again?” 

“Probably,” Komori admitted, shying away from Kiyoomi’s gaze as he took a sip. “Not sure if I understood half of what he was saying though, but...”

“But?” 

“He did take my number,” Komori muttered, a faint blush rising across his face. Kiyoomi knew it had nothing to do with the alcohol he was drinking. 

Kiyoomi huffed in amusement, lifting his glass up to his mouth, welcoming the burn of alcohol down his throat. His gaze drifted back towards the crowd, choosing to observe instead of partaking. The wind picked up making his coat flap around him in the breeze. Music continued to blast from the speakers, a remixed up tune party beat that Kiyoomi couldn’t stop himself from tapping along to. He took another sip. 

Across the rim, he noticed a familiar face in the crowd. Kiyoomi watched as he raked a hand through his platinum blond hair, the smile specifically reserved for fans and the media plastered on his face. Kiyoomi shook his head in fond amusement. Who was he even trying to turn up the charm for now?

He tilted his head to the side, leaning back against the railing and crossing his legs in front of him. On the other side, Atsumu pushed his hair back, flashing a grin at the person he was talking to. Kiyoomi narrowed his eyes, a vague notion of forbidding crouched on his shoulder. 

Miya tilted his head back with a laugh as the woman he was talking to, a model by the looks of it touched his arm. Another handed him a marker with a smile looking at him through her lashes. Miya took it from her, leaning forward to say something to her as her friend giggled. Kiyoomi watched as he uncapped the marker with his teeth, smirking around the cap. He spread his arms wide and winked. Kiyoomi was pretty sure he had winked at them.

Kiyoomi drained his glass in one go, roughly whipping his mouth with the back of his hand. He placed his empty glass on the tray of a waiter that was walking by. 

“I’m going to get another drink,” he told Komori.

“Hmmm okay!” 

He walked away, not towards the bar, but towards the exit as if putting distance between him and the scene of the crime would take the image of Miya signing her chest out of his mind. 

  
  


Miya pushed open the door to their room at 2 AM. Kiyoomi did not move from his spot, sitting against the headboard of his bed. The lights flicked on as Miya flipped the switch, stepping forward into the room. 

“Yer still awake!” he greeted Kiyoomi, smiling at him. “Thought you’d be asleep by now since I didn’t see ya back there.” 

Kiyoomi didn’t say anything. He found that he couldn’t trust himself to speak. 

“Omi?” Miya asked, concern lacing itself in his voice as he stripped off his jacket. Kiyoomi didn’t trust it. “Is somethin’ wrong? Why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?” 

“Did you get bored of them?” Kiyoomi asked, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone sounded harsh to his own ears. He couldn’t blame Miya for flinching away.

“Whaddya mean?” he asked, his gaze hardening as his shoulders tensed up. 

“The models you were with,” Kiyoomi clarified, getting out of bed. “Did you get bored of them?” 

Miya stared at him blankly as if he couldn’t figure out who Kiyoomi was talking about. Realization finally seemed to dawn on him as he regained his composure. “Them? They jus’ wanted an autograph. They left right after that. Kinda kept bugging me until I gave it to ‘em. What’s the point of gettin’ it on the chest, y’know? It’s gonna get washed away.”

Miya’s voice trailed away as he caught sight of the scowl Kiyoomi was sporting. Something else must have clicked inside his head because he looked at him in confusion, his question accompanied by nervous laughter. 

“Are ya jealous?”

Jealousy. Perhaps that was what he had. Unwarranted. He couldn’t understand its origins. All he knew was that it had taken root deep inside of him dethroning his voice of reason. Yes, jealous. He was jealous. How absolutely fucking childish of him. Especially considering the fact that Miya didn’t even know he was being hit on. 

Kiyoomi gritted his teeth, taking a deep breath. "You could be with them right now." 

“Yer fuckin’ jealous,” Miya answered for him, laughing. He laughed loud and clear, the sound of it ringing harshly in the room. There was no humor in it. Kiyoomi felt his insides crumble away at the coldness of it. 

He hated it. 

He hated it so much.

“We aren't exactly exclusive. Or a thing.” He snapped, trying with all his might to hold on to the one semblance of sanity that he had left. Though he had probably lost his grip on it the moment he had opened his mouth.

No, the moment he had left for his room. 

"Do you want the press to go wild with rumors of me cheatin' on ya? Is that it?" Miya asked, stepping forward, leaning into his space, his breath hot against his skin. “Or do you actually like me, Sakusa-san?” 

The formal use of his surname, the emphasis on every single syllable, the way his eyes remained unreadable as his mouth curved into a sneer. Kiyoomi hated every single bit of it. He felt as if someone had hollowed out his insides, carved into the flesh. 

Maybe it was spite that spurred him on. Or maybe it was some twisted animalistic nature that had taken over and overrode all the sense he had ever had. All Kiyoomi knew was that it was either one of them that made him do what he did next. 

It was reminiscent of the time in the parking lot, but this time there was no paparazzi hiding in the bushes, there was no mask coming in between them, instead, there was desperation. 

Kiyoomi kissed him hard, pulling him close against him, palms cupping his face. Atsumu tasted like beer chased away with something minty. Kiyoomi could feel Atsumu’s hands come up to rest against his shoulders, his mouth opening a little wider as Kiyoomi’s tongue curled against his. It was messy and brutal and frantic as if everything was dependent on this very moment, as if with this Kiyoomi could communicate everything he could never say aloud, let Atsumu know the things about him that he didn’t know himself. 

But between one moment where Atsumu was holding him by the waist with his hands in his hair and the next where he pushed him away from him, making Kiyoomi stumble, it felt like all was for naught. 

“Ya don’t get to do that,” Miya spoke, breathing heavily. The monotone pierced through Kiyoomi, hurting more than if Miya raised his voice. “Ya don’t have the right to. We’ve only just become friends, nothing more.” 

Kiyoomi could only watch as Miya grabbed his coat from where he had thrown it on the bed. He didn’t stop him as he banged the door shut behind him as he left. 

Kiyoomi raised a hand to his mouth, fingers tentatively touching his lips. He sank to the floor, self-hatred threatening to consume him. He choked out a bitter laugh as he crumbled apart. The early morning sun streaming in through the tiny window being his only witness. 

Friends? Were they still friends after this? 

Miya never returned back to their shared dorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhahahaa im sorry let's be honest tho you prolly saw that coming hehe <3
> 
> also ive taken certain uh whatdoyoucallit liberties because i was lazy so rip to that however kawaii monster cafe is an actual place i'd recommend looking it up because i kinda copped out of describing it (will fix it later hopefully) n so is the snake cafe and i googled up the snakes they had n picked the most colorful one 
> 
> if there are inconsistencies please let me know and also your views and thoughts and you know the drill i appreciate every single kudos/comment/bookmark n i thrive off of them <3 
> 
> i hope yall have a good year ahead n if u play genshin i hope you get your faves !!! thank u for reading !!
> 
>  **UPDATE:** just thought i'd mention it here that the next update won't be until april/may because i may have bitten off more than i could chew lol anyway thank u so much for reading this n giving it your love it means a lot since some of its pretty personal lmao [glances at the projection tag] anyway i promise i will finish this because this fic may be a mess but its still my pride n joy 
> 
> in the meantime here's my [twitter](https://twitter.com/fatiusm) incase u wanna drop by or whatever it's mostly genshin rn (surprise surprise) because that's the only thing keeping my sane while also ruining my life !


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